Latest Fieldnotes

Cloudhigh and I fixed the wussy Jane’s flat tyre (honestly, you’d think an opinionated, stroppy, independent bird like her would know how to fix a flat tyre), picked up as we left the Whispering Knights. As I applied great force to the rigid wheel nuts, Jane was heard to say to the radiant Lissy “She’s better to have around than a bloke”, which I felt was a bit unfair to Cloudhigh, but nonetheless made me grin naughtily as I wielded the wrench with panache. But I digress.

After a fine Sunday lunch in the Chequers, we all bowled up at the Hoar Stone. It was Cloudhigh’s and Lissy’s first visit, and it certainly seemed to have an impact on them both, which was great. I for one couldn’t stop taking photos of Lissy exploring the broken chamber – there was something compelling about her vibe and the site’s vibe melding. Very cool.

After some time there, the delightful Jane left for the pictures, and Cloudhigh, Lissy and I all set off for the Hawk Stone.

The exquisite Cheryl and I came here today with some serious photography in mind. The light was priceless, and even better, we had the place to ourselves pretty much all the time. As we did the shoot, something was making a strange whirring call in the field at the back of the monument. Sounded like a grouse, but I’m sure there are no grouse up there. Partridge, perhaps?

Anyway, the shoot went brilliantly, and we felt entirely as one with the place. And we saw three hares chasing each other wildly round the adjoining field, which was just brilliant. No boxing, though. . . .

Thank you Goddess.

This is a great spot, and I’ve had some memorable times here. Watching the Leonids meteor shower on a freezing cold night in November at 01:00 in the morning; lying on the ramparts star gazing at midnight on a warm summer night; and stepping across the ditch in thick milky fog that truly felt like the veil between the worlds, where anything was cosmically possible.

Today, a chap in a tractor dragged the grass up in the inner circle, filling the air with fabulous smells. The exquisite Cheryl and I walked the green and sunny northern edge, pondering on life in general, as all of Oxfordshire lay before us and the skylarks chased each other over the downland. Bloody lovely.

Released from the daily grind, due to a week’s leave in which I can potter and please myself, it was a real treat to visit the White Horse on a Tuesday lunchtime with very few people about. There was an added frission due to the spectacular weather, and there’s nothing I like more than being out in spectacular weather on a week day.

Even better was the fact that I was in the company of the exquisite Cheryl, an earth magicy babe of the first order. We walked up to the White Horse, watching several skylarks whizzing about and squeaking at each other, and then just stayed there for ages drinking in the atmosphere and view (which was unfortunately pretty hazy). The delightful Jane calls this place the ‘roof of Oxfordshire’ and she’s so right. It’s an amazing landscape, one that calls for some real meditation and absorption. And a very healing place, should you require it.

It was wonderful to feel the warm breeze blowing across one’s skin, listen to the black-faced sheep bleating continually, and just zone out. With shirt sleeves rolled right up, and Cheryl basking in the sun, could it really be March, I wondered?

Well! This was a most memorable visit, and one I shall recall fondly. The Whispering Knights looked lovely in the open field – get rid of those sodding railings, and they would look stunning – and we started discussing the size and position of their erstwhile barrow. It would have been so impressive. I think the charming Cloudhigh was very taken with it indeed.

As we soaked up the views, and tried to rebuild the structure in our minds, conversation turned to the radiant Lissy’s professional talents as a voice over artist.

“Ever done the Shipping Forecast?” asked the delightful Jane.
“Oh, you mean ‘South Utsire, North Utsire’,” replied Lissy unwittingly, in her husky tones. It was too much for me.
“Oh *please*,” I implored her eagerly (several times, I might add), “Say ‘This is the Shipping Forecast issued by the Met Office at 14:00 on Sunday March 23’ . . . “

Lissy merely roared with laughter at my warped excitability; but eventually, sat in glorious sunshine beneath a beautiful portal dolmen at the furthest point from the sea anywhere in the country, the skylarks were briefly in competition with a mellifluous and husky voice –

“ . . . ‘Forties, Dogger, German Bight, rising slowly . . . “

The King Stone had its usual effect on me – i.e., not very positive – and it was interesting when the radiant Lissy said she felt similarly about it. The delightful Jane pointed out that what we were seeing was not it’s original shape, but I wondered if that would actually make any difference to the vibe. Perhaps, if it had been really important, but over the years had been seriously desecrated; maybe the energy has been twisted. Sorry, being fanciful again.

And I wondered how Jane knew it wasn’t its original shape; I realize she’s got an important birthday coming up, but she can’t be *that* old . . .

We were blessed with a stunning spring day for this visit to the Rollrights. The mood was admirably set whilst driving through the fabulous north Oxfordshire countryside in Cloudhigh’s sexy motor, listening to the 2nd Mvt of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No.5. Mmmm . . .

Meeting up with the delightful Jane, we didn’t have to wait long at the circle before we were joined by Lissy, who looked as radiant as the day itself. The Rollrights were pretty sexy too, and I was relishing the opportunity of some serious photography, so as the others sat and chatted whilst Jane painted, I crawled about in the horse-hair matting taking loads of intriguingly angled pics of the oolitic limestone. The strong lunchtime sunshine picked out the cavities and fissures on the rocks brilliantly, and their magic gently pulsed under the blue sky and skylarks’ cadenzas. Excavation work to repair the edge of the circle revealed several hidden/fallen/buried stones, so the legend is true – it’s impossible to count them all in one go!

After an hour spent enjoying the vibe, chatting, and people watching, we wrenched ourselves away to show the charming Cloudhigh the King Stone and the Whispering Knights.

After the excitement of last summer’s massive thunderstorm, it was very pleasant to re-visit this site under pure blue skies and golden sunshine, despite a chilly breeze.

Had not had the opportunity previously to examine the longbarrow itself, but was able to this time. What a parlous state it is in, to be sure. Despite the fact there were stones left at its far end, I felt unable to take any photos. It would be like photographing a crime scene or an RTA.

The big outlier stone was just as impressive, however, and the early afterenoon sun picked out the textures superbly. Another place with fab views . . .

Again, though sinking into the mists of time, and being swallowed up by modern detritus, one can just about get an impression of how impressive this site must have been. Up on a high ridge, once more with beautiful views all around. Hope the badgers like it there.

Not much to see here, but a mound sinking back into the earth. I think the fact the the forest track kinks round the end of it says more about the site than anything else.

Still clinging on 6,000 years down the line, though.

I liked this hugely. The sense of time here is something else. Although it the barrow itself is very ruinous, the fact that there were some stones left made me very happy.

What was especially impressive was its location deep in the heart of what’s left of the vast and ancient Wychwood Forest, previously a royal hunting ground of great importance. Today, there remains a flavour of what this woodland must have been like 1500 years ago, and as the delightful Jane said, it was very easy to understand how the Eastern European fairy tales came about when people lived in such environments.

But as we sat next to the dilapidated barrow, listening to the blue tits and great tits calling to each other, I found myself pondering on the terrain. Had this barrow in fact been built 6,000 years ago in a treeless landscape? Apparently, there were many other barrows (or remains thereof) scattered through the forest. Was this part of NW Oxfordshire as important a place as the Avebury area? What *did* it lok like in the Bronze Age? How many barrows have we lost? Did it actually look like modern Wiltshire up here?And the peace and quiet was sublime. This is a very special place. *Please* ask for permission should you wish to visit. It would be wrong to spoil the trust of such a landscape – if you know what I mean.

Jane is a wuss. I reckoned all we needed to do was ask nicely if we could have access to the barrow, but she was very shy of doing so; however, as there was no-one about, it was academic, really. Anyway, all they could say would be “Yes”, or “No.”

Still think it would be worth a look if at all possible, just to get an idea of the scale,especially having seen Leafield barrow just up the road.

Amazing what you find if you look. Tucked away behind Leafield village, looking magnificent in the glorious spring sunshine, stands a huge barrow.

This must have been a truly impressive tomb in it’s hey-day, and I presume would have been along the lines of a Severn-Cotswold design. I was disappointed that any entrance way had long since disappeared, but the views this site commanded were staggering. On the highest point in the area, one could see for miles in every direction.

Shame about the trig. point and the reservoir/substation, whatever, but the trees atop it were very pleasant.

This is a tremendous place. This time, visiting with the delightful Jane, we were able to enjoy wonderful early spring sunshine. It was great to squeeze down the narrow passage again, despite the fact I’d left the torch in the car, so couldn’t see all the details. A few quick blasts with the flashgun helped give an impression of what was inside.

I would have liked to have read the Vagina Monologues out loud, deep inside the barrow, and really had some fun with the acoustics, but unfortunately, the advent of eight noisy kids put paid to that idea. But what a cool place to recite such a celebration of women. I want to go back and do some more. . . .

Went here with the delightful Jane a couple of weekends ago. Interesting seeing it at the back end of winter, as oppose to the height of summer. Although the sky was the same fabulous blue as before, I think it needs trees in full leaf to bring out the redness of the stones. The sheep seemed happy enough, and watching the sweet little lambs gambolling around made me feel slightly guilty for serving up Honeyed Welsh Lamb in celebration of St. David’s day the night before.

Ooo, whoops, is a christian saint allowed to be mentioned in relation to these sites? ;0)

This is a very cool place. It’s almost too idyllic, and wonderfully evocative. If you believe in faeries and other spirits, this is where they live. And it’s a pretty marvellous place to spend eternity, so I recommend a visit.

This is something else. Magnetic, compulsive, binding. Lie back within its grassy bank on summer’s afternoon, and discover a portal to the cosmos. And I found it extremely difficult to leave the womb-like interior once inside; the sense of safety was profound.

Four days into the New Year, and the miserable weather finally broke, providing a classically sunny winter’s day. “Lambourn Sevenbarrows,” exclaimed the delightful Jane, at the other end of the phone. “Be with you in half an hour.” Cue frantic scramble for a roll of B/W film, only managing to produce a very old roll of PanF. ‘Bit chancy,’ I thought. ‘Give it a shot, though.‘

What a corking site it turned out to be; very powerful, yet utterly charming at the same time. I had expected it to be sited on the top of a high ridge, but instead it’s nestling in a small dell, the downs and ridges rising up all about. I spent most of my time amongst the main group of barrows, while Jane wandered up the hillside for a more all encompassing view.

Having been to see ‘The Two Towers’ the previous day, Tolkien’s characters were still filling my mind, and, albeit rather fancifully, I could easily visualise the Rohirrim assembled amongst the barrows in the cold winter light, come to honour their dead warriors.

In fact it felt very much like a neolithic ‘Valley of the Kings’, despite being a very well-used site indeed, not just for single inhumations. There is something very centering and special about this place, and seeing it for the first time in midwinter was very evocative; something to be recommended. I note that JC says it’s a fine place for a picnic, when the wildflowers are blooming in abundance. Can’t wait for May, then . . .

By the way, ‘The Two Towers’ is a jolly good movie, so go and see it; and if my photos don’t turn out, at least I’ve had the benefit of a merging of experiences. Did Tolkien ever vist Lambourn Sevenbarrows?

Stopped here for a short while whilst on the tour of NW Oxfordshire with the lovely Karen and bewitching Fiona.

Never been that enamoured with this stone; it fills me with an uncertain vibe. It has a very sinuous shape, and interestingly, Fiona announced that she felt it to be very ghoulish, like a wraith twisting up from the earth. She could perceive a distorted skull within the rock, it’s face contorted in agony. Chilling.

Karen got a couple of smashing pictures, however, and they show it in a much more friendly light. Perhaps the flowers softened the vaguely sinister air that trembles around this intriguing monolith.Then again, it had been a New Moon the day before, and we might have all been having a weird reaction to that and the thundery, monsoon-like weather . . . .

On the way to Lyneham Longbarrow, Karen, Fiona and I stopped off at the Rollright Stones, but unfortunately were unable to get in, as there were rehearsals taking place for the ‘Lords and Ladies’ play. No matter, we decided to head off to the Whispering Knights.

I’m particularly fond of this site; don’t know why, just love it. The last time I visited was back in June, along with Jane, Andy, Karen, James, Louis and my enchanting sister, Deborah, on a fun day out. Then, the English summer was doing its usual crappy thing, and we hadn’t been there long before the first rain drops fell, necessitating a decampment to The George at Lower Brailes.

This time, however, we were treated to a little break in the clouds and a glimpse of blue sky, which meant we could really spend some time in the rolling wheat field that is home to the Knights. They stand at the edge of the field, lonely sentinels gazing towards Chipping Norton across an undulating north Oxfordshire valley. The stones looked lovely with lush growths of broad-leaved coltsfoot springing up from their bases, and next to them, occasional clumps of creeping thistle nodding in the breeze. Pock-marked by erosion, it was possible to see many mournful faces in the stones, and I loved the contrast of yellow wheat, green hawthorns, and blue sky.
Naturally, I was shooting in B/W!

How I *wish* though, that a ring of spiky metal railings didn’t have to encircle these magnificent megaliths. The bewitching Fiona was of the same mind, as it was clear she was yearning to feel the heart of the stones and commune with them. The lovely Karen was equally unimpressed, and we spent much time trying to photograph the stones’ essence without including their black corral. Karen got a corking view, including blue sky and white clouds, which was a bit good, all things considered. Not sure whether I captured them as I wanted to, despite sitting on a remarkably thorny thistle and kneeling in peculiar dampness in my efforts to do so . . . .

The skies had become a cauldron of meteorological phenomena by the time we drove along the ridge that led to Lyneham, and as we looked south, we could see a massively proportioned, purple and black thundercloud advancing up county towards us. It resembled something you would expect to find sweeping across African plains, as all round, the clouds towered into grey skies, their huge structures boiling and twisting into more thunderclouds as we watched. A strange light in the north filtered through more gigantic cumulonimbus, and clearly, a torrential downpour was imminent. Lightening flashed as we pulled off the road, and it was decided a very swift visit to this broken barrow would be the order of the day. The lovely Karen wisely elected to stay in the car.

As the bewitching Fiona and I strode through the field (keeping close to the hedgerow), towards the solitary stone that is Lyneham, another bolt of lightening lit up the sky, and a peal of thunder rumbled belligerently.

“How cool is this?!” I exclaimed gleefully, “Visiting a megalithic site in a thunderstorm, in the company of a megalithic goddess! Splendid!”
“Hmm,” replied Fiona nervously, more aware of the fact we were atop a ridge in open ground with only a hedge at the same height as ourselves. To the south, the countryside was obliterated by vertical sheets of water.

We reached the stone just before the first drops of rain, and spent a mad few minutes of camera work and stone appreciation; feeling the stone’s vibe seemed to calm Fiona’s sense of anxiety, and I felt the prevailing weather conditions really heightened this obscure site’s vibe. By now, the wind was whipping up, and the gigantic deluge was almost upon us, so we hurried back to the car, minutes before the storm broke.

We had planned to visit the Hawk Stone, and gamely made our way there through the tempest, but on arriving, it was clear we weren’t going to be able to reach her. After waiting 15 minutes, the downpour showed no signs of abating, so we returned to Karen’s for tea and biscuits, me cackling maniacally every time we drove through huge puddles in the roads. What a very impressive end to the day!

It proved to be a challenging excursion to the megalithic sites of Oxfordshire (challenging because we couldn’t reach half of them, and the weather became increasingly pants); this time with the lovely Karen, and the bewitching Fiona, (who, it must be noted for the record, is something of a megalithic goddess). “Oh, take me away from Coventry for the day,” Fiona had implored, so we duly obliged.

Arriving at the Hoar Stone first, both Karen and Fiona were instantly enchanted by the huge, green stones as they stood hidden within their grove of holly trees. Thousands of sparkling water droplets dripped from the boughs after the rainstorm earlier in the morning. The brooding silence was amplified by the wet day, and the vibe was great.

We were able to linger, and spent much time communing with the stones, savouring the sense of calm stillness they generate within the soul. This is such a wonderful, secret place, it’s well worth a visit. Eventually, compelled by hunger and the thought of a pint, we reluctantly tore ourselves away to visit Lyneham Longbarrow, via Chipping Norton.

When we reached Yelcombe Bottom, the valley below the Giant, it was already early evening, and a warm golden glow was spreading across the land before us.

The gradient and angle of the carving means that it can only be seen properly from the air – not dissimilar to the Uffington White Horse. The car park opposite the Giant is a tranquil, peaceful spot, apart from the occasional car passing by. A thoroughly good vibe permeated the whole sunny valley, as evening songs of blackbirds, robins, chaffinches and wrens filled the air. It’s very easy to feel that the Giant owns Yelcombe Bottom, and there is a definite feel of mystery about the place. Worth a look.

After visting the Hoar Stone, the delightful Jane and I walked through a stubbly field deep in the heart of north-west Oxfordshire’s skylark country. It was a perfectly still evening, and I dawdled along the footpath to the top field, watching the skylarks performing. (Vaughan Williams captured this so brilliantly in The Lark Ascending; which is some achievement, considering the nature of bird song).

Jane, on the other hand, shot ahead, and had already reached the Hawk Stone by the time I saw this unique stone appear on the horizon. This is a very mysterious monument, hidden and solitary, but gazing over a fabulous vista from her hillside perch. (Excuse the pun). There really is a sense of time and eternity here, and as I was going through a particularly stressful time, I found this stone a salve for the soul.

The stone glowed all sorts of yellows and purples in the evening sun, and Jane was given to moments of delighted squealing every time a particularly bold colour was revealed: “Look! Look! That’s *pure* Naples Yellow – wow!!”

I’m not so good with understanding colour, being a B/W photographer, but when I screwed my eyes up I could see something that resembled one of the messy colour blocks in her field box. I, very stupidly, had not brought a camera with me, but instead had decided to try out my sketching skills. Would have been better off with a camera, quite frankly.

We sat for a couple of hours in the field, listening to the birds, observing a hare (Jane and I always see hares when we’re out in the landscape), and watching the sun sink. As we left, I noticed that the south face of the stone bears an uncanny resemblance to Picasso’s ‘Weeping Woman’ . . . how weird is that?“

Do you know, this is my favourite way to spend an evening,” Jane said, as we walked back down the field, trying to work out the age of the hedgerow. “You can forget all your nightclubs, boozing, et al; leave me in a field with some stones, my paints and a flask of tea anytime – it’s *brilliant*!”I agreed it was, and to make it even more brilliant, we went and had a bag of chips in nearby Woodstock . . .

On an evening excursion out to the Hawk Stone, Jane and I stopped briefly at the Hoar Stone, a very lovely spot virtually hidden in a small copse on the A44 (the delightful Jane gives directions below). This is a broken up barrow, but still very impressive.

It was early summer when we popped by, and the massive, fabulously mossy stones brooded quietly under dense foliage – notably a large amount of holly trees, which was nice. Dog’s Mercury carpeted the woodland floor all around the stones, and despite being on a busy road, the place was very centering and peaceful.

I notice Jane reckons it’s impossible to photograph; well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we . . . and taking some atmospheric photos of this site is high on my agenda. Looking forward to the return visit.