Summer 1996 midsummers eve. I was staying in a campsite just below Moor Divock when I decided to drag my long suffering daughter "up the hill to see the stones", she usually dreads "dad and his stone expeditions", "aw dad not more stones, they're sooo boring". Anyway on the promise that I'd take her to the camp disco that night we yomped up the hill.
It was a beautiful evening when we arrived at the stones and in the far of distance we could see a procession of folk winding their way up the hillside from Pooley Bridge.
We were witnessing something special, a procession to the stones.
It was no formal affair just a rag taggle group of about thirty heads, kids in tow, party packs in hands, making their way up the winding paths to the stones.I couldn't help feeling I was witnessing a scene that was timeless. No amount of pleading with my daughter could persuade her to stay for the arrival of the party- goers, a deal's a deal and we had a disco to attend so we split. It was enough for me though just to witness the procession and for 1 hour be transported back to my neolithic ancestry.
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Posted by fitzcoraldo
4th July 2000ce
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