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Fieldnotes
| The weather forecast appearing reasonable enough for a foray upon the high moors... I scan the map - while munching the ubiquitous granola - seeking a reference to 'Heap of Sinners', this eventually to be found a few miles west of Buckfastleigh. The initial comic intonations are soon tempered by the realisation that those who named this massive Bronze Age funerary cairn, set high upon Huntington Warren were, far from having a laugh, in all probability po-faced dogmatists with deadly serious intent. OK, perhaps the choice of nomenclature was not overtly driven by malice - rather to save the souls of any 'black sheep' of the local flock tempted to revert to the heathen 'old ways' - but nonetheless, such a blatant allusion to the mass murder of 'heretics' by a vengeful god fair sends a shiver down my spine, so it does. Yeah, as Mark Twain (apparently) noted: "The so-called Christian nations are the most enlightened and progressive... but in spite of their religion, not because of it". Whether the result of a perceived kinship with these metaphorical victims of past intolerance, or morbid curiosity, I realise I must indeed don the boots and go see for myself. In my opinion, there's something deeply unsettling about those willing to take dogma at face value. You know the sort: the 'faithful' who will brook no challenge to their chosen doctrine; those who refuse to even contemplate that there might be (at least) two sides to every story; those who simply 'know' they are right without the need for any corroboration. Arguably, the most noxious of this class is the religious fundamentalist: not content with their own 'infallibility' and forthcoming 'salvation', they are furthermore consumed with a burning desire to purge every dissenting viewpoint, too... OK, as the perceptive Mr T suggested, the malign aspects of Christianity are, thankfully, progressively losing their grip upon the Western European world view. Nevertheless, when monotheists of another ilk see no mutual-exclusivity between being a human being and the beyond-vile act of flying a packed passenger jet into a tower block, we've clearly still a very long way to go before a corporeal Captain Kirk, Picard, Janeway or - hey - Archer could one-day state something like: "We humans used to be intolerant of others, but we learned to overcome that". Indeed, it might be argued that divisive, tribalistic tendencies are so inherent within human behaviour that this will remain forever out of reach? Perhaps, but then again, maybe the allusion to 'education' here really is the key to attaining what may now appear an impossible dream? If so, it seems to me it will be a slow process of incremental gains effected by stepping back and actually stopping to think. Question everything you're told. Ah, that old punk chestnut again. So - in solidarity with our petrified 'sinners' of yore - Huntington Warren it is, then. Now I would appropriate Mr Armstrong's timeless epithet for this personal act of irreligious defiance but, well... it's actually quite a trek (for me). And besides, very few give a monkey's what a modern antiquarian gets up to nowadays, right? Hey, just look at the paltry number of Citizen Cairn's YouTube 'likes' and you'll get the picture. Suffice to say, one mustn't kid one's self. I might as well be... say... walking on the moon? Let's just 'hope my leg don't break' in the process. Anyway, I decide to approach from the east, an initial obstacle - the temporary closure of the road accessing the Venford Reservoir (from the B3357) - rendering my prior directional calculations null and void, subsequently casting me adrift within a maze of 'local' roads dependent upon signage - never something to be savoured. Eventually, however, I locate the junction at Cross Furzes and manage to park upon the verge a little before the lodge to the northwest. Heading due west now, the road morphs into a stony track near Hayford Hall to finally access open moor at Luds Gate. Pupers Hill - another apparent focus of local puritans back in the day - rises immediately ahead. I, however, decide to follow the path traversing its southern shoulder, briefly tagging along with the 'Two Moors Way', before swinging westward again at a boundary to head straight for Huntington Warren, its prominent cairn now visible upon the horizon. Hickaton Hill is to my left, the site of a prehistoric settlement, beyond which lies the Avon Reservoir, the environs of which are home to a rich abundance of further significant reminders of former human habitation. Ah, 'home'. Curious isn't it - hard to fathom, one might say - how a landscape nowadays perhaps the epitome of 'getting-away-from-it-all' wilderness, was clearly once verging upon a prehistoric metropolis? OK, nothing Fritz Lang would have recognised, but nonetheless there must've been a fair few punters out and about back then. Only stone foundations, enclosed within retaining circular drystone walls, now remain to stand mute testimony to what once was 'everyday life'. The forebears left more for us to ponder, of course: their great - and more modest - cairns. The path descends to Western Wella Brook prior to scrambling steeply uphill, to the right of prominent husbandry pens, to attain an audience with a fine example of the former. An involuntary [self-censored] exclamation escapes the lips upon dawning realisation of the huge dimensions of this 'Heap of Sinners'... the Citizen truly Cairn'd. The sheer audacity of those assigning such nomenclature - assuming they really weren't just taking the piss - beggars belief, leaves me gobsmacked at the implied horror worthy of the deranged mind of a Hitler, Stalin, Franco or Mao. Surely such (presumably relatively) educated people did not REALLY believe this huge stone pile represented the petrified mass grave of human beings, each of whom having subsequently been smashed to smithereens for the 'crime' of flouting the 'will' of their god? Any more than the current priestly castes believe in the literal content of their respective 'holy' texts? One is left with an overriding sense of empathy toward - of standing 'in the corner of' - the uneducated 'flock', some of whom were perhaps not so credulous, held private misgivings that their preacher was feeding them a load of bollocks to maintain the status quo, the mutual power monopoly of church and state? It is a privilege to stand here and contemplate that, despite the earlier pessimism, my basic comprehensive education has engendered personal actions indicative of progress. We, in the UK at least, really have come a long way, haven't we? The priests may reckon the Israelites brought down the walls of Jericho with their trumpets, but I place much more importance upon Dexys' brass section 'Breaking Down the Walls of Heartache'. Green shoots, eh?.... Time to sit and take it all in. And what a spot this is, the vast monument occupying a classic upland landscape position with, thanks to the relative uniformity of elevation, far-ranging views in all directions. A glint, a shimmer of sunlight upon water, highlights the Avon Reservoir below to the south-east, a number of settlements gracing the lower slopes, beyond which is the cairn-crowned Grippers Hill; to the south, the massive profiles of the White Barrows are clear, the eastern to the fore... albeit well out of range today; sweeping to the west, the very sharp-eyed (or optically-enhanced) viewer may discern a veritable cornucopia of archaeology: Stalldown and the sublime 'Kiss in the Ring', Ditsworthy, Down Tor. Classic country for wandering, indeed. Looking north, a path leads to cairned Ryder's Hill with a similarly-endowed Snowdon (no, not that one) to its right. Finally, the gaze is held by what appears to be a very substantial monument crowning Pupers Hill across the void to the east. Clearly, I must pay it a visit upon the return leg. For now, however, one must enjoy the moment. The silence is not total - unlike at the majority of Mid Walian sites earlier in the year - the serene calm subject to brief interruptions, notably by a couple intent upon 'collecting' the trig ID of Ryder's Hill who are, by all accounts, enamoured to learn of the providence of the cairns hereabouts. Nice people, even kept at arm's length due to COVID-19. After a couple of hours hanging out with fellow - much quieter - sinners, however, it's time to go see a couple more: the pipers upon Pupers Hill. Now, what is THAT all about? https://www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/8052/pupers_hill.html |
Posted by GLADMAN24th April 2021ce Edited 26th April 2021ce
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