Latest Fieldnotes

Visited: February 16, 2014

Of the Iron Age promontory fort of Maiden Castle nothing tangible remains except what appears to be a prominent grassy mound some ten or so metres high. But once you climb this it is clear that it is a rampart: a gently curving ridge, just two metres wide along its crest, protecting the narrow grass and gorse covered headland beyond.

From the shingle beach below it is clear why a fort was built here: rugged 30 metre cliffs provided no means of access.

Maiden Castle lies beside the coastal path heading north from Arbroath, about 1½ kilometres walk from the sea-front car-park. The mound comes prominently into view shortly after turning the corner above the sea stack known as the Deil’s Heid.

Maiden Castle is a fantastic vantage point providing breath-taking views over Carlingheugh Bay. Just north of the Castle, easy grassy slopes lead down to the shingle beach from where you can admire the amazing sandstone architecture all around you.

The British, I think it’s fair to say, are fond of lists. Consider the seemingly limitless supply of cheap (funny that) TV shows featuring an inexorable count down to the ‘Most Embarrassing Celebrity Moment Ever’, albeit mostly monopolised by Justin Bieber nowadays... or the annual Christmas opportunity to marvel at ‘Bing and Bowie’s’ sheer festive joie de vivre at being in each other’s company.... and pretty much everything else in between. Including the categorisation of the prehistoric monuments of these Isles according to relative merit. Well, apparently some weirdos do it. Clearly a ‘niche’ activity, one never likely to scale the heights of intellectual discourse inherent in debates about Shaky’s awesome jumper, or Agnetha Fältskog’s equally magnificent backside. Nevertheless experience has shown it can generate heated discussion, controversy even. Steady now. To illustrate the point, where would you place Garn Boduan within the rich canon of North Walian hill forts? Exactly. What’s the name again?

To be fair I had noted Garn Boduan quite a number of years back, sandwiched between the exquisite profile of Carn Fadryn to the south-west and the impossibly enigmatic ‘Town of Giants’ to north-east. No wonder it assumed the ‘middle ground’ within both my consciousness and visit list alike. Consequently it required an extended sojourn upon the great Bronze Age stone pile upon Mynydd Carnguwch in 2012 to prompt a subsequent search of Coflein’s database, whereby a reference to ‘titanic enclosure’ raised the ante somewhat. Having said that it’s still a drag to leave the embrace of the high mountains – even if Eryri’s bosom is clammy and somewhat claustrophobic today – and venture to the coast through the narrow defile of Drws-y-Coed, the upland cairns of Eifionydd lost to the seemingly metaphysical world within the cloud mantle. And so to Nefyn, a small town trading upon the allure of the nearby sandy beaches, the latter sheltered by the fortified headland of Trwyn Porth Dinllaen to the west. For me, as with all such gregarious seaside settlements, an air of apparent melancholy is prevalent out of season. Although of course I could just be a miserable muppet. Whatever the truth, the sight of the great rocky lump that is Garn Boduan rising to the south is a memorable one for an antiquarian. No doubt it can be ascended from town.... however, forever contrary, I decide to approach from the south-east, taking the A497 and hence B4354 to park up near Gorphwysfa.

Here a public footpath (a precious commodity as it turns out) follows the line of the road to the east, before doubling back to ascend the afforested hillside rising above. Sadly it would appear that the woods are managed by a private company for the morally debatable pleasure of ‘hunters’, signs warning of the deployment of apparently legal ‘vermin’ traps in the area. So please watch the kids if you decide to come. My assumption is these traps are designed for creatures looking for a meal of grouse the natural way... and not those armed with guns. Guess the latter option wouldn’t make good business sense. Anyway, with Carn Fadryn gracing the left hand horizon, the track makes its serpentine way eventually up to the enclosure. A massive, collapsed dry stone rampart is immediately apparent girdling the summit crags, although the eastern flank is so sheer the natural defences would’ve probably sufficed. Clambering up to the north, past the ethereal remains of several skeletal trees, the true nature of the site slowly begins to sink in. Yeah, this is a very, very substantial hill fort indeed.

The highest (eastern) sector is occupied by the remains of a powerful, thick walled ‘citadel’, for want of a better term. One might also be tempted to call it a dry stone proto-’keep’, although maybe that’s an exercise in interpreting archaeology to fit an existing presumption. Nevertheless I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Garn Boduan was re-occupied and ‘adjusted a bit’ during the Anglo-Norman campaigns in Wales. The substantial nature of this upper enclosure’s defences is more than matched by the superb views afforded the visitor, particularly toward the coast to north-east (Yr Eifl sweeping to the sea with Tre’r Ceiri perched upon the landward summit) and east (Mynydd Carnguwch crowned by its gigantic cairn). Carn Fadryn holds sway to the south-west, whilst Y Rhinogydd provide the horizon beyond Tremadog Bay to south-east. Hey, I even reckon I can make out Criccieth Castle, as well as the shapely crag of Moel y Gest overlooking Portmadog. Needless to say the inclement Welsh weather stakes a considerable bid for attention in the form of a brutal, freezing wind which sends numerous poorly clad punters, arriving from the north-east, back whence they came in very short order indeed. Also striving for attention, to judge by some graffiti daubed in Welsh, are the local pseudo-political activists. Images of Wolfie Smith flash into my mind. Well, guess everyone has to start somewhere.

Moving on after a rather cold lunch, I descend northwards to follow the line of what appear bi-vallate defences. These are impressive, too, albeit becoming progressively more overgrown until the north-western arc is found to be more or less completely reclaimed by Nature. Great views across Nefyn out to sea are adequate compensation for the unforeseen effort demanded from me. Veering south to check out the western flank – after what seems an age, such is the size of the enclosure – I slowly become aware of the remains of numerous hut circles occupying the interior of the south-western corner, overlooked by the ‘citadel’ above to my left. In time these become more well defined, then substantial. It’s difficult to make sense of the overall layout, however, so I withdraw to higher ground for an overview. From here, with Carn Fadryn resplendent upon the far horizon, the impression of ancient upland defended settlement is arguably as good as any I’ve seen to date.

A weather front appears from the direction of Abersoch – or thereabouts – making rapid progress inland. Very rapid progress. In a few minutes it falls upon Garn Boduan, fiendishly strong winds lashing rain against hillside with an unbridled ferocity that makes completion of the circuit back to the summit a matter of some perseverance. Worth the effort though since, as seen upon first arrival, this south-eastern arc of ramparts is perhaps the finest of what has been revealed to be surely one of the finest hill forts in all Wales. Why it isn’t generally regarded as such – well, in my experience anyway – may, as suggested earlier, be simply a matter of geography, of Garn Boduan being located between two sites employing the landscape equivalent of Max Clifford as publicist. Nevertheless, although Garn Boduan may not grab the attention from afar, I’d suggest it is a ‘slow burner’. Yeah, if we were in Aberdeenshire it would be ‘Barmekin Hill’ to Tre’r Ceiri’s ‘Mither Tap’. Pretty good, then.

A good example of the difference light makes in seeing motifs .I’d had a look at an old pic from four years ago and thought there might be a couple of rings .Almost ideal conditions yesterday ,when the mist cleared , confirmed that there were two arcs ,not rings .

By the time I reach the eastern entrance of the henge I’m tired and the sky has turned much darker. As always though, meeting the huge stones of the circle boosts my flagging energy in a way that Red Bull will never be able to replicate.

I don’t take the full tour today. Today’s efforts have been focused on getting here through the landscape, the journey being the reward for once. Instead I have a mooch to the Cove (still my favourite setting in the whole complex) and the southern quadrants. I finally take up residence on the sloping bank above the ditch of the southwestern quadrant, not quite at the bottom but on a level with the stones. Arriving at such a busy place after the quiet of the Downs would usually irk me, but today I enjoy watching the different interactions people have with the stones. Some stand in awe, some touch, some just have their picture taken. From where I sit, the voices are muted and the words don’t carry, except one who is expounding something about the electrical properties of the stones.

Ah, Avebury in the summertime. Long may it be a focal point, the builders would surely approve.

Much wandering later, just as I’m on the verge of reluctantly giving up, I spot a pointy stone, which looks familiar. And so it proves to be, the unmistakable grooves of the Polisher lying just beyond. I’ll be honest, I’m feeling a bit pleased with myself at this point, but even without the extra euphoric boost, this would be a winner all day long every day.

I won’t try to describe the stone, the pictures do that better. Instead I’m going to lie down with my head resting on its smooth surface and enjoy the peace for a few minutes.

The next part of the walk is a bit less straightforward. I’m hoping that I can find the Polisher, but I don’t actually know where it is. I know photos on TMA show a gallops fence nearby, but that’s about all I’ve got. Most significantly, I don’t know which side of the Herepath it’s on. The only thing to do is to wander.

Wandering in the drifts of Fyfield Down is a good thing though. After entering the Down at its southeastern corner, I’m immediately confronted by the scale of the drift itself. I’ve never really seen anything quite like it. I have a quick look at the Fyfield 1 and 2 barrows, but really even these are overshadowed by the natural landscape here. From here I follow the ribbon of the Mother’s Jam, coming across The Monster Stone as I wander. Yep, it really is a monster. Other treats here include the experimental earthwork, slowly decaying as intended. Overton Down (south) may be just about the least impressive round barrow I’ve seen in Wiltshire, a barely-there mound under nettles – get the sheep in, someone.

South of the Clatford Down gallops I finally part with the White Horse Trail, taking a bridleway southwest towards the second site of the day. As the path follows the contour of the hillside, Devil’s Den comes into view. This is one of those sites that you’ll already have seen, even if you’ve never been to it. Something of a celebrity, even in a county that boasts some of the biggest A-listers of them all. It’s great to see it first from afar, how it sits in its valley, tucked away below the windy downs.

Devil’s Den is something of a triumph in another way, as although the OS map shows it standing off the right of way, the little triangle of land is subject to permissive access, which means you can go and spend as long as you like there without worrying about any confrontation. This is a relief, because it’s a site I want to savour. No rushing here. The chamber sits on top of a little mound, all that remains of a much larger structure. The field is turning to meadow, and will be a haven for chalkland flowers and insect life. Beneath the low spread of grasses, the surface is completely littered with chalk and bits of flint, presumably turned up by years of ploughing but now left discarded in the sun.

I love this site. The whole structure looks poised, as if about the march away across the Wiltshire landscape. The sky has turned somewhat cloudy now, but rather than diminishing the visit it adds an extra drama to the backdrop. I could stay here a long time, and so I do.

Time passes, not a soul approaches. Just how a site visit should be.

Walking from Uffcott gives a slow and steady approach to Barbury Castle, today’s first objective and the proper start of the walk. A week or so earlier, G/F and I had a wander round Old Oswestry, which frankly blew me away in its scale and ambition. As a result, I’m not expecting quite so much from Barbury, but you should never, ever, underestimate what you might find at a prehistoric site. You’d think I would have learned that by now.

As the rampart looms above me and the climb steepens, it’s already becoming apparent that this is going to be a good ‘un. The first thing properly encountered is a fine disc barrow set below the western entrance to the site, constructed on the slope and facing westwards over the edge of the down. The disc is actually easier to see from the approach than close-up. A smaller round barrow lies to the northeast, closer to the bottom of the hillfort rampart. On another day, in another place, these two would be enough to linger over. Here though, the pull of the earthwork is too much and I make my way up onto the bank.

I make my way clockwise around the outer ditch. Up close, the earthworks really are very impressive indeed, the ditch still deep despite 2,000 years of silting. There are terrific open views from here. Liddington Castle, the next substantial hillfort to the northeast, can be seen on the horizon. Over to the east the views stretch across the Marlborough Downs, while to the south the fort commands views of anyone coming down the Ridgeway. Once inside the splendour of banks and ditches, there is little else to be seen. The real joy of the visit is undoubtedly in the perimeter and the views from it. A week after Old Oswestry, Barbury Castle is certainly holding its own. A gem of a fort, all in all.

Just how extreme can stone hunting get ?

I came across this site whilst cruising coflein’s blue dots late one night, it can get rather addictive.
I might never have come here if not for Craig Rhiwarth(fort) and Bedd Crynddyn(barrow) across the valley, and over the hill across the valley is Glan Hafon weird cairn, they all exceeded my expectations, and the scenery is very easy upon the eye so I just had come back here one maybe two more times, high above the Tannat valley once more.
I’ve been sat at home the last two days nursing my poor sciatic leg, but sitting down makes it hurt more, the only relief is walking, strange that, it’s like treating obesity with doughnuts, so whats good for work is also good for stone hunting, and this cairn requires some leg work, not as much as I put in, but a long walk all the same.
I parked in a parking for one spot near a big house on a bend where on the map it says Buarth Glas. Map also says there is a footpath entrance round here somewhere but I couldn’t see it, so I walked down the road past the big house ‘till I got to a gate going in the desired direction, up.
Following a line of trees up hill, and followed by a line of curious and tiny sheep I meet up with the north/south path that runs at the bottom of the cliffs, Craig Y Castell, obviously so named because of the well spaced towers of rock jutting out into the valley.
Heading south on the aforementioned path, with Craig Rhiwarth dominating the other side of the valley and once more showing why it was used as a fort in the Iron age, I look up between the rock spires and think I can see an easy way up, then deviate from the path without even giving it much contemplation at all, just having a closer look. Before I know it I’ve gone too far to turn back and keep heading up. It was mostly easy enough except for the last fifty yards, it took as long to traverse that last bit as it did the whole walk, grabbing handfuls of heather to help haul myself up, sitting out of breath every ten vertical yards, slipping, and watching two farmers talking blocking the road far below, are they watching me, to see if I fall, if i do, I wont be driving home,it’s very steep, so I don’t give them the satisfaction and eeeeeeventually I get to the top. I throw my self onto the soft sodden
flat hill top, reveling in it’s flatness.

After what felt like longer than it probably was, it seemed I wasn’t going to have a heart attack after all, and my thoughts turned back into stone hunter mode, I stood and looked across the barren moorland hill top and saw with childish glee that my shortcut had at least taken me straight to the cairn, it sat not fifty yards from me, I walked slowly over.
Coflein states that the cairn is 7.5 meters across and half a meter high, sounds about right, and “showing elements of a cist” but that sounds to me as if it’s totally knackered and only a couple of telltale stones still exist, enough to say “elements of a cist”. But I was pleasantly pleased to find exactly half of it left, a large rectangular box three to four feet long sunk into the ground with two side stones still in place. About six feet east of the cist is a large flat stone, after I’d liberated it from it’s mossy confines I could see that it would not cover the cist, but, two would do it nicely, but there aren’t two, was the other broken, or is it just a flat stone after all, or an out of place kerb stone. Talking of kerb stones the cairn still boasts some kerbing on it’s north to west arc. So, it’s not the biggest of cairns, but it’s above the grass line, it has a big cist and even some kerbing, that’s a good cairn that is. And I wont go into the views much, only to say that they are good, especially to the south, and even on a dull but rainless day.

Needless to say I didn’t go back the way I came, I’d give you some directions but then i’m clearly hopeless at finding the easy way. Stay on the path.

I’ve been to nearly all the hill top cairns around the upper Dove valley now, on some fool hardy mission to try and find some reason why so many cairns and burial caves are to be found in such close proximity.
Some hair brained scheme to figure out a macrocosm of the whole, and what have I discovered about this under valued part of the South Peak district, well, it’s very pretty, that’s a given, and all the cairns that cluster around the two well defined peaks of Parkhouse and Chrome hills, are all inter visible, from any one cairn or cave mouth at least two others are visible on a different hill somewhere. Not much of a bombshell is it ?
So it’s pretty here, and all the occupants of the cairns wanted a view down onto the valley between the hills. Why ? who can say, not me.

The cairn on Hitter hill was ransacked/excavated in the 1840’s and 4 rock cut graves and 4 cists were found, one wonders if such things were found at the Hatch a way cairn on the next hill over, they are much the same size and shape.
Finding out the exact burial circumstances of each of the participating cairns would undoubtedly shed light on the........ dare I say it .......mystery.

When I was on Parkhouse hill I could look over to Hitter hill and try as I might I couldn’t see the cairn, but now I know what it is i’m looking for ive seen it on many of my photos, including two ive already put on here.
I cant really agree with Stubob about this cairn though, he says it’s battered and not really worth the climb up, yes it isn’t the most pristine example of the genre, and some leg work is involved in attaining the height, but ive gone much further afield for lesser cairns than this, it’s still a meter high, some cairn material is visible on its western arc, and it’s definitely facing the two prominent hills. But his descriptive word for the view is much the same as my own, only I would add John Cleese saying it in a French accent...oouutrageous !

I was fortunate enough to visit this site in low light which showed up a depression where the barrow was reported to stand.
If the reports of it being constructed as a ‘vaulted tumulus’ similar to Stoney Littleton are correct, the chambers may have extended into the hill.

Not much to see here but I could clearly make out the Murtry Hill stones (see picture)

There was a map of the site by the cycle path but I got the impression that the Saxon cemetery and the position of the Long Barrow had been swapped to put off anybody who might use a metal detector.

Buckland colliery is situated on the opposite side of the hill from the barrow site. Two shafts were sunk in 1879 but they filled with water and no coal was ever produced. The long barrow may have been built over a blind well connecting an underground waterway.

ACCESS
The easiest and quickest route to this site is via the footpath at ST 75083 49920, just past the Great Elm railway bridge.
The barrow was situated at the top of the hill, behind what is now a wooded area, but was originally the old quarry mentioned in the Pastscape record.

Decided I would take the longer but downhill walk to this site. Can’t say I would recommend it to anyone else who would choose to visit, unless they had the time, as it was much easier to visit from the gate by Great Elm.

Ended up doing this site backwards. I photographed it before asking permission. Just as well because when I did go down to the farm, I was told by the neighbour that the farmer was very ill and bed-ridden.

These stones have a very powerful vibe and I could easily understand some of the sites folklore. There is a mound of earth within the compound, which may have been the original covering. The Pastscape notes say that the barrow was opened in 1803-4 which would imply that the structure was undisturbed enough to still contain primary deposit of human bones, and secondary cremations, possibly in urns. If correct, the site may have attracted visitors long after the Neolithic and possibly into the Roman period.

When I visited the visibility was perfect and you could easily see the Barrow Hill Long Barrow. The hilltop occupied by the church in Buckland Dinham was also very prominent in the landscape and I wonder if that too had a place in the prehistoric landscape, being link together by the A362. The springs at the bottom of Buckland Dinham hill are also worth visiting.

ACCESS
Site is on the crest of a hill by Nightingale Lodge and in sight of the Barrow Hill Long Barrow, with the A362 at the bottom of the hill. The surrounding parkland is now a country club and golf course with a footpath up the drive next to the stones.
The area is fenced off and stands like an island amid a sea of corn. I spoke to the estate manager about access after my visit. He had a laugh when I ran some of the folklore stories past him but he hadn’t seen anything himself. He was cool about me going to visit but warned me to look out for the ram which the farmer keeps in the stones compound.

Found some of the stones from this barrow and can confirm the continued presence of the erected “Capping Stone” said to cover the five cambers from this long barrow. I spoke to the current owner of ‘Stonelands’, the property listed on the Pastscape index, who told me that the area had been redeveloped and their stones had now been incorporated into the newer property next door called ‘Leystones’, and that I should talk to Mr.Cuss about the stone in his garden. Although I got no response on ringing the bell at ‘Leystones’, I did walk past their stones on the driveway up to the house and I could see Mr. Cuss’s stone through the hedge. I took pictures from different angels and went on to ring Mr.Cuss’s bell.

Couldn’t put an age on Mr.Cuss but I reckon he had a telegram from Liz on his mantelpiece. He was the very same Mr.Cuss mentioned in the 1965 excavation, a former gardener at Fromefield House. He repeated his statement and “still had not found any re-interred bones”. I asked to take some pictures of his stone, but he refused. It was a very hot day and I think he wanted to get inside for his tea. He was kind but I didn’t linger and bid him good day.

The stone on this property seems to be right next to a hedge and behind a poly-tunnel. The site looked safe and loved, and in a strange way the poly-tunnel acted a bit like the long barrow. I couldn’t find the other stone mentioned, in the garden of ‘Ormonde’, but I left the site having felt I had achieved the object and gained an insight into the sort of stone I was searching for, a tangible glimpse of the craftsmanship and finish this tribe of Neolithic people left behind.

The Somerset Historic Environment Record site gives a map of the developed area with an image of the long barrow superimposed on the new street plan.

Walkers making their way westwards along the North Wales Path will be hard pressed not to notice the great Cefn Coch cairn. Guess that’s probably a ‘given’ (although whether its significance duly registers with the average punter is clearly a moot point). The more perceptive pedestrian, perhaps imbued with a passion for corporeal reminders of past humanity, may discern the remnants of a possible stone circle a little to the east. Nevertheless how many of the latter passers-by see fit to interrupt the striding, purposeful gait and pause to peer over the substantial dry stone wall bordering the track to the north, the agency nothing more than curiosity, albeit far from idle in this context. Ah, curiosity... what a wondrous thing to possess! Those that do will, perhaps, notice a pair of fine, mutually exclusive cairns lying in the pasture beyond, beneath the serrated top of Graig Lwyd... actually apparently a trio of monuments, although I was hard pressed to positively identify the last of the triumvirate myself.

Fortunately, considering my inherently poor sense of direction, I approached downhill from Graig Lwyd, where even I couldn’t fail to note the excellent kerbed cairn sitting below the course of a power line. Ah, yes. There’s no point in denying the adverse aesthetic impact of such things, even the wooden variety. However, to be honest, they do seem to become tolerable after a while, another feature of a landscape which has witnessed humankind’s industry for millennia. Or perhaps that’s just me?

In my opinion the kerbed cairn is a cracker, the stones much more substantial than I had anticipated. Nice ‘round’ amount, too.... always a good idea when defining a cairn. I concur with Postie’s count of eight orthostats, the sum of which combine to form a monument very pleasing to the eye, whatever may be looming overhead. To be fair there isn’t actually much ‘cairn’ remaining, the impression more that of a small stone circle. But I can live with that. I also have no issue with the excellent view looking approx north-east toward Ffridd Wanc, nor Moelfre, Y Meini Hirion and the northern Carneddau looming upon the upper southern aspect.

The other significant monument to be found within this field lies a little further south and is a much larger affair – a ring cairn with several tall(ish) orthostats upon the circumference of a pretty substantial, low, grassy cairn. To be honest it’s difficult to decide which of the two cairns is the supporting act, both, in my opinion, excellent examples of their genre. To put it another way imagine – if you can – attending a concert featuring both Joy Division and ABBA. Utterly different, admittedly, but both masters of conveying something of that most nebulous of elements... the human condition. Not sure which cairn is analogous to which band... possibly the kerbed cairn to JD owing to its sparser nature... but hopefully you get my drift?

As usual, more time is required than I have available before darkness descends. However spending my final hour at the aforementioned Y Meini Hirion seems the most apt way to end a rather splendid day above Penmaenmawr.

Moss recently posted a link to Jim Leary’s paper on the Marlborough Mound. Towards the end of it there is a section discussing ‘other potential prehistoric mounds in Wessex and beyond’. Sherrington motte is picked out as very promising, ‘given its low lying setting next to the river Wylye and with springs nearby [it] is surely a contender for a Late Neolithic mound.’ So today, encouraged by what feels like this year’s first view of the sun, my sister and I made a visit.

We parked just opposite the Codford turnoff on the A36 and walked down the narrow lane towards the River Wylye. As you may have noticed, it’s been raining a bit recently, and the ditch along the side of the path was full and running swiftly. Running over the chalk the water is so beautifully clear. Growing up amidst quite different geology, I always think chalk streams are rather magical. The Wylye always strikes me as rather magical, weaving about so cleanly in its valley.

After you nip across the railway line, the footpath is obvious and bends round a couple of amazing houses. One had swans lounging in the garden – the river was up an absurd amount. This became very obvious when the two of us had to cross a footbridge across it, barely above the water. Here the river wasn’t clear at all, it was murky and speeding rather scarily.

To see the mound, go into the churchyard. It’s on the far side of a seemingly still ‘moat’ though with restricted access it’s hard to see how the water connects up with all the rest round here, but the river’s very close. I imagine there’s a little more water in the moat than usual at the moment. Leary’s article says the mound is 48m in diameter and 5.5m high, adding encouragingly that ‘mottes are quite rare in Wiltshire.‘

I’m sure you would also like the painted Jacobean wall texts in the dinky church of St. Cosmas and St. Damian immediately opposite, while you’re there. And back at Codford St. Peter there is a superb bit of Saxon stone carving. It was a very nice stroll. There are some more photos of the mound on Paul Remfry’s website . He says the moat is full of water all year round (which at least in the present would be in contrast to the situation at Silbury and Marlborough).

At first glance this site looks like a strip of round barrows running along the crest of the hill, but on closer inspection a distinct grouping can be made out. On the pasture east of the wood, three round barrows curve round in a arc with two more lining up in the wood. One of the barrows from this grouping was excavated by Skinner in 1820 and contained a coarse urn, 16” high, 12” wide at mouth with chevron decoration, half filled with a cremation of a young woman.

There are nine other barrows, six of which seem to be paired up one the western end of the wood. Between these stand three barrows in a E-W line. This is where the Beacon was said to have stood. A large circular earthwork, presumably of later date, encircles these three barrows and centres on a single standing stone.

The standing stone is a mystery and looks like it has been moved onto the barrow at a later date, but may have been originally placed elsewhere within the barrow grouping. The O.S. map of the wood gives three parish boundaries meeting on the Fosse way just west of where the barrow stands.

The Romans made several roads around here but to drive the Fosse way directly up the hill and between the two barrow groups was clearly designed as a statement on a conquered territory. The iron-age hillfort of Maesbury Castle lies 3km to the east.

Although the road layout of the old Frome road is roman, there would have been a prehistoric trackway running along top of the Mendip Hills directly in front of the cliff face. The quality of the stone from these hills ensured the extensive re-engineering of the road network, together with extensive building work.

The woodland trust own and manage Beacon Wood with support from the Beacon Hill Society. The wood was brought by the trust in 1993 with funding from Mendip District Council. The woodland has developed over the last 200 years on land that was formally un-enclosed.

The core of this hill is the oldest in Somerset and was laid down by volcanic activity 420 million years ago. Stones formed from lava (called andradite) were overlaid with fragments of explosive debris and ash (called tuff). A layer of Red Sandstone was deposited some 380 million years ago when the climate was sub-tropical desert. Rheon layers of limestone were deposited when the area was under a tropical sea. It is very unusual to see a mix of these types of stone in one small area.

The present crest of the scarp contains rounded pebbles of polished white quartz, known as conglomerates; the rust red colour results from the oxidation of iron minerals under arid conditions. Continued earth movements caused folds and faults to occur and the Mendip Hills were uplifted about 280 million years ago.

ACCESS
No problem parking as there is a pull in just off the old Frome road at ST 63701 46110. An alternative is over the road from this where a small section of the Fosse Way remains as a minor trackway.

North Walian travellers looking for a ‘ritualistic quarrying vibe’ similar to that seemingly prevalent upon the utterly wondrous Langdale Fell should perhaps look elsewhere.... albeit (arguably) in vain. Sadly the ravaged headland of Graig Lwyd isn’t going to soothe a ragged psyche in need of sedation. Quite the reverse. In fact I’d wager a shiny brass farthing that any TMA’er standing upon this coastal summit will experience thoughts of sedition against a society that cares so little about our ancient heritage. Can we be blamed for the security of ignorance, as Dave Gahan once crooned?

Yeah, the outlook from the top to the coast is not a pretty sight, looking out across Conwy Bay toward the lowlands of Anglesey. This negative perception is nothing to do with the enigmatic Ynys Mona of course; but rather the inevitable result of devastation wrought by modern man’s insatiable desire to rape the landscape regardless of cost. The thought arises... oh dear... ‘but hold on though, were not our prehistoric forebears doing very much the same here, albeit on a (presumably) much reduced scale?’ Does the fact that they quarried stone from this very hillside to fashion exquisite stone implements make their actions any more worthy? Hmm. Guess it rather depends upon how the individual views the importance of scale of operations, amongst other things. Is a red kite ‘better’ than a crow just because there are less of them? Is it moral that familiarity breeds contempt? My ignorance duly exposed, I defer such ponderings for another day when I’ve some evidence to deliberate. Perhaps there is an axe to grind here, perhaps not? But, as of old, that is probably best done down below.

The summit of Graig Lwyd is girdled by pretty substantial drystone walling. However, upon clambering up from the exquisite Cefn Coch cairn to the south, I find a gate which allows access. Whether the landowner has issues with the odd (or not so odd, depending on your point of view) person having a look to see if they can make out the cairn and settlement depicted on the map I’m afraid I can’t say... since he sped by on a quad bike before I could ask the question. For the record I located the settlement (quite substantial but apparently Roman, at least according to Coflein), but not the cairn. Nevertheless I’m happy that I can declare, in the immortal words of Max Boyce, that ‘I was there’ to witness the extraordinary continuity of human industry. One also wonders why Romans / Romano-British saw fit to seek accommodation here? Quarrymen, or attracted by that ‘ritualistic quarrying vibe’?

Curiosity sated, I turn toward the much more aesthetically pleasing southern aspect and note what appears to be a fine arc of kerbing below at Cors y Carneddau. Worth a look? You betcha.

Walk west from the Deerness Stores and ooking up to the former United Free Church of Deerness a long natural mound called Howan Blo is easily seen. I have only seen it from the main road but there is a track goes by. I could see zooming in a slightly terraced slope, either from ploughing or perhaps to make inserting easier. The farm of Blow(e)s is said to be named after it.
In the excavation record I notice two similarities with George Petrie’s 1861 dig at Greentoft/Milldam, no great distance away. First the use of loose stone to ‘ground’ the cists, and more importantly that if someone had removed the funerary urn Petrie found it would have left an urn-shaped cavity of virtually the same dimensions as that at Howan Blo. Which suggest co-evality at least, if not the same potter.

I parked the car on the forest track south west of the cairns, right by a junction of forest tracks, I couldn’t get all the way down it as there is a barrier blocking the way. So off for a walk I go, sciatic leg not problemising the route at all. The track should terminate in a turn around/parking area but impatient as I am I strike out off piste up the tree covered hill. Immediately out of the trees I start coming across cairn like features, are they the southern most of the cairns, without my compass I’m not at all sure so I keep going up. Passing a ring feature on route, what it is I am unsure, it’s not on the map or coflein.
I can see the two summit cairns on top of the hill but pass them by in favour of the north west pair of cairns. But the compass is still in my other coat at home and I’ve somehow totally lost my bearings, i’m not looking in the right place at all, darn it.
I mosey on over to the two summit cairns, they aren’t particularly impressive. The lesser of the two is just a large bump with some stone poking through the short grass. But the other is bigger, not higher, but bigger, and more stone, a large boulder and a stone that could have been a cist cover. But the most featuring feature is the tall modern cairn with a statue on top, from a distance I thought some wally was stood on top of it, but I was the wally, partially lost and failing eyesight.
God I’m old.
But who built this modern cairn here ? is that legal ? and who is it a statue of ? the female figure carries two water jugs, is it a rain bringing fetish, if so tear it down now, Wales has enough rain.
The views are extensive, who knows which way I was looking but I reckon I might have been able to see the Berwyns and the Arenigs.

After, back home I can see where I went wrong, now I know I only saw two of the seven cairns, but is it worth going back to complete the job ?
Maybe.

Standing proud at the bwlch between Moelfre and Graig Lwyd, this fine upland cairn was the primary reason for my return to this section of Gwynedd’s northern coastline today. To be fair the excursion – assuming one is lucky enough to be in a position to make it, of course – is a real ‘no-brainer’ for a stonehead, considering the numerous other cairns, stone circles... hey, ‘axe factory’... located here above Penmaenmawr. Albeit a sublimely ironic ‘no-brainer’, since the old – or not so old – grey matter needs to be at the top of its game to cope with the sensory overload inherent in such a landscape. Guess I’ll just have to do my best, then.

The cairn stands immediately overlooking The North Wales Path, to the latter’s north, at the point where the Wales Coast Path branches off toward Clip yr Orsedd. Maybe this was always the arrangement, the monument defining an important part of the landscape, a gigantic ‘marker cairn’? Whatever, it is perhaps best seen when descending Moelfre (c1,427ft / 435m) rising to the south, itself blessed by a Bronze Age cairn. Nowhere as good as this one, though. From Moelfre’s slopes it is difficult to dismiss the insidious perception that everything in the neighbourhood was sited relative to everything else. With the utmost care, too. Thoughts come a’tumbling down.... unlike, thankfully, the viewer. Was the monument placed here to interact with travellers upon the track(s), whether engaged in journeying to an actual earthbound destination, or some metaphysical abode? Or was it erected in homage of the striking Moelfre itself. Or Graig Lwyd, source of the precious stone implements? Or even placed in the ‘cleavage’ between the two peaks in accordance with some ritual mamillar fixation? Er.. they have been known. Apparently. Rhetorical questions, of course.

Leaving such speculation to one side, what is certain – at least in my case – is that time spent hanging out upon the cairn, gazing south-westward toward the glorious profile of the northern Carneddau sweeping down to the sea, is paregoric in the extreme, the everyday cares and worries of life ‘down there’ seemingly of little consequence for a while. A brief hiatus, admittedly. Why, even the brightly-clad ramblers marching up and down the tracks, such an irritant at Y Meini Hirion, don’t contemplate interrupting their walks for a mere cairn, even one as upstanding in profile, as impressively defined as this. All 8ft or so of it (c2.6m). Incidentally, there is also a small(ish) recumbent stone to be found close-by to the approx west. Whether this represents a displaced cap stone, fallen prehistoric standing stone, or similarly fallen later marker stone.... or nothing at all I’m afraid I have no idea. Sorry about that.

As mentioned by Postie the interior of the cairn has been hollowed out somewhat; however it does not detract from the experience in my view. As for the agency responsible for such vandalism, I’m in the corner of the much maligned giants here. Yeah, I reckon the damage was the inevitable result of a troll looking for a mis-placed laptop so as to continue his evil on-line trolling mischief. Something needs to be done.

There are a number of ‘Moelfre’s to be found in Wales... which, considering this descriptive name translates to the English as ‘bald / barren hill’, I guess is not that surprising. This example, rising at the northern extremity of Y Carneddau is – at c1,427ft – not the highest ‘baldy’ this baldy could climb... however, when located amongst a wonderland of prehistoric delights it would be rude not to check out the summit following ejection from Y Meini Hirion by the unsolicited attentions of noisy numbskulls. What’s more, the summit possesses the grassy remains of a Bronze Age cairn. Not to mention peace and quiet. Ah, that’s better.

OK, as upland Welsh cairns go (as they tend to do unfortunately rather literally, or so it seems) it is not overly substantial, although to be fair the grassy mantle does camouflage form somewhat. According to Coflein:

“The cairn at Moelfre is an oval mound, 26’ x 2’ and 1’ high with its longer axis E-W. In the centre of the cairn is a slight hollow. 2003.11.26/OAN/PJS”

Nevertheless it does the job, not least by inspiring local legend. It would seem that some time in the not too distant past Moelfre was crowned by a triumvirate (the number perhaps symbolic?) of red, white and blue stones traditionally representing three girls petrified – hey, exterminated – by a vengeful Christian god for the unspeakably heinous crime of winnowing corn on the Sabbath. Roland Friesler would’ve no doubt approved, in lieu of the guillotine. Sadly I could find no trace of the stones today, although several of the ‘un-painted’ variety lie around.... as you might expect upon a cairn, come to think of it. However isn’t it great to muse upon the possibily that the girls’ – presumably (hopefully!) apocryphal – sacrifice helped keep the tinder of resistance to religious repression dry. Not to mention every other sort.

The great prehistoric ‘axe factory’ of Graig Lwyd obscures the sea view to the north somewhat – there are worse things to behold – the bulk of Moelfre itself that to the east. However the vista of Y Carneddau to the south and, in particular south-west, is pretty special. Ditto that looking westward along the coast. Less dramatic, but poignant nonetheless is the crash site of a Consolidated B-24 J Liberator “Bachelors’ Baby” which came to a violent end below the mountain in 1942. I did not visit, but understand there is a memorial to the five brave crewmen tragically lost that day. And their dog.

Altogether the summit of Moelfre would be a great place to hang out for, oh, ages... if there wasn’t a great cairn sitting there in the bwlch below to the north. Such is life. As it is, a relatively short time must suffice.

No sooner have we left the wooded cover of Blodwel Rock than we’re across the Welsh border and into Llanymynech hillfort. Sadly our emergence from the trees takes us slap into the middle of a golf course. Immediately we’re scowled at by plus-foured types and the visit becomes an exercise in avoiding plummeting golf balls rather than looking for the remains of the fort’s earthworks. The whole interior has been moon-scaped by older quarrying superimposed by bunkers and hazards. Bah.

When we get a moment to look anywhere but heavenward, it turns out that there’s a decent view of the whaleback of The Wrekin, a very fine hillfort that dominates the north Shropshire plain.

Our route ducks back into the trees and alongside Offa’s Dyke, a.k.a. the northwest rampart of the fort. As at Blodwel Rock, the tree-cover makes it difficult to really get a sense of the site. We follow the edge of the escarpment and the earthwork round to the southern tip of the hill. Here the gentle terrain gives way to the towering cliffs of Asterley Rocks, much quarried and mined over the centuries. There is a very fine view south featuring a number of neighbouring hillforts on The Breiddins, Beacon Ring on Long Mountain, and the lowland sites of Bryn Mawr and Gaer Fawr but overall the feeling from the visit to Llanymyech Hill is one of frustration, both from the general destruction caused by industry and from the irritating placement of a golf course across the interior.

After crossing first one then another disused railway line at Porth-y-Waen, we have a view of the today’s first prehistoric site, the wooded Blodwel Rock fort. It looks like a fairly stiff climb up from the valley floor, and so it proves to be.

The fort occupies the top of the ridge, the steep scarp face of which we climb from the northwest. Offa’s Dyke has been an absent friend for the last couple of miles, but we reacquaint ourselves here. The fort is just in England, but the frontier has curved back eastwards again and we are poised on the edge of Wales here.

In truth it’s not the most impressive of forts, the woodland cover is quite dense and the tangled vegetation underfoot anywhere off the main paths makes it difficult to really get a sense of what’s what. This is compounded by the fact that Offa’s Dyke runs along the lip of the scarp, although Pastscape (see Misc. post) suggests that the Mercian earthwork stopped short of the fort and simply made use of what was already here and at neighbouring Llanymynech Hill.

Visited 18.1.14

Directions:
From the town of Wellington, take the A38 south. After a couple of miles you will see a sign to your left for Ashbrittle. Although you have to navigate a maze of lanes to get to Ashbrittle it is well sign posted so you should be ok. Take an O/S map just in case!
You will need to park on the main road and walk along a path to the church, which is behind a couple of houses.

Although it was only 4.30pm, being the middle of January on a wet and dreary day, it was already starting to get dark. I was keen to visit this site so hoped I would get there in time. As it turned out we got there before it got too dark – phew!

I love these old church sites. I was planning on having a look around inside the church but there was (what sounded like) an organ recital going on so a stayed outside.

It felt very much like a scene from a Hammer House of Horror. There I was rummaging about in an old grave yard, at dusk, with organ music in the background and crows adding to the atmosphere – fab!

As for the Barrow itself it is easy enough to find. Just head for the church porch and look for the large yew tree with an old weathered metal information board next to it. You will immediately notice that it has been planted on the top of the Barrow in question.

The Barrow is approximately 1.5m high x 15m across. A couple of ‘modern’ graves reside in the outer edges of the Barrow, beneath the canopy of the yew tree.

The information board states that the yew tree is over 3,000 years old and further advises the reader that this was a mature tree when Stonehenge was in use. As you would expect the tree is large and has what appears to be 7 trunks – one in the centre and six forming a ring around it. I have seen this type of thing before when visiting other ancient yews (particularly the one in Fortingall, Scotland). Although it looks like several trunks it is in fact the same tree.

Ashbrittle is a bit out of the way but if, like me, you appreciate an old church/graveyard, particularly one with a prehistoric slant, then this is a good place to visit. Certainly one I would recommend.

Now it may appear somewhat obsequent for what is surely the most substantial stone circle to still grace this land of Wales (in the absence of more than the pair at Brwyn Gwyn) to not be the primary focus of any trip upon the rocky headland of Penmaenmawr, overlooking what today is actually an unfeasibly blue Conwy Bay... however such is the plethora of prehistoric sites to be found here, where the northern slopes of Y Carneddau literally plunge into the sea, that I assure you nothing was further from my mind this wondrous morning. Except, perhaps, the daily travail. Oh no, as it happens I’ve had a hankering to return for a day out (that is proper ‘out, out’, in the Micky Flanagan sense) since being inspired by posts of the great Cors y Carneddau cairn some time back. Inspiration eh? Yeah, what a priceless gift to bestow upon any other individual.

It would appear from the map that the shortest approach to Y Meini Hirion – the tall stones – is also that requiring the most physical effort from the would-be punter (funny that), a public footpath from Graig Lwyd farm ascending steeply southward across the eastern shoulder of the prehistoric ‘axe factory’ site of Graig Lwyd itself. Guess that although I’m packing plenty of inspiration in my pocket, I’m somewhat lacking in imagination since this is the same route I took twelve years ago upon my only previous visit... however the retrospective, coastal views are excellent, looking across Dwygyfylchi to the Bronze Age copper mines of The Great Orme. Industrious lot, these prehistoric forebears. Well worth the effort every decade or so, then. The path eventually labours up to the crest to bisect the eroded scar that is The North Wales Path, the latter no doubt a prehistoric route along the headwall.

Cefn Coch (Red Ridge) and the Druid’s Circle – well, Anglesey is just across the water, so perhaps some of that enigmatic caste did come here – rises to the immediate south, although visitors wishing to approach via the lovely little ‘Circle 275’ will need to divert a little to the left. Upon arrival I’m instantly glad that I came back, the stones justifying their prosaic name by appearing much more substantial than I recall, particularly when compared with the diminutive orthostats of the archetypal upland Welsh stone circle. The location, however, appears to have been chosen so the monument remains pretty incognito to all except passers-by upon the track below. Burl hypothesises, rightly I think, that stone circle and track are inextricably linked, perhaps in association with Graig Lwyd, too. Well, I reckon it’s a good bet anyway. Bog borders the site to the east, the serrated profile of Tal y Fan looming upon the southern horizon with, nearer to hand, a couple more enigmatic prehistoric structures. Northward lies the sea and the former Druid heartland of Ynys Mona.

I rush about trying to capture something of the magical aura generated by the golden light ‘on film’ before the vibe will inevitably be shattered by the inexorable arrival of the first long distance walkers deviating from the track below. Half an hour later they are here, a group of noisy young ramblers stopping off for lunch accompanied by an adult guide. Sadly, for me, this is Y Meini Hirion’s achilles heel, its proximity to a major rambling route. Time to move on toward Moelfre to the west. Not a great hardship, to be fair.

Executing a crafty plan... I return early evening, at the end of a long day, to find the ancient ring once again at its spellbinding best, thankfully minus the barely interested juveniles. At times like this it may well be a contender for Wales’ finest stone circle per se. A place to sit and think amongst hoary old stones of seemingly unfathomable symbolism and meaning. If only they could speak and relate some of what has occurred here over the course of millennia. Then again, perhaps they do....