Visited 21/8/2005: Here we have a fine Kentish long barrow set high above the Great Stour and small village of Chilham, the latter also possessing a rather interesting polygonal Norman keep, located beside a great house of some repute.
Near the junction of the A28/A252 a ‘dead-end’ road leads across a railway line to a wooded car park. Contrary to the fine forecast, a hint of August drizzle hangs in the air... the path leading across the aforementioned river, past a striking white timbered building, to an attractive weir, the fast flowing water enhanced by a veritable submerged forest of weed and such-like. The path swings to the left, after negotiating a second bridge near a house of attractive red brick, to ascend to the downs above... (ha! How excellent is the English language?) where the long barrow lies, unseen by the casual observer. Not to mention the interested one, too.
The monument is cloaked in summer vegetation and foliage, natural camouflage of the highest order which takes me for a ‘monumental’ sucker. Yeah, I walk straight past, to finally cotton on courtesy of a retrospective glance by the edge of a freshly harvested field... so there you are, you beauty. This long barrow is no ploughed-out vestige of its former self either, measuring a substantial 6ft-odd high by 144ft long beneath the greenery. I reckon it would have been clearly visible from the river down below in days gone by; however, it now backs up against an area of woodland which has possibly served to protect the remaining fabric. Out of sight is out of mind, so to speak.
Upon finally locating a bramble-free spot to sit and contemplate the surroundings, the paradoxical nature of the site is all too evident. Common place sounds of urban life – traffic noise, the very-close-to-annoying peel of church bells etc – may be clearly audible, yet all I can see are rolling agricultural fields sweeping into the distance. The two do not converge in any meaningful way, leading to a somewhat surreal experience, if the truth be told. Occasionally it is apparent that – sometimes, anyway – places don’t change that much, do they? Julliberrie’s Grave keeps on keeping on. Regardless.
Revisit – 27/1/2024: some 18 years later, I’m back. Older (certainly).. wiser (in some respects, perhaps?)... but with no loss of appetite for these enigmatic places. Unfortunately, the expected ‘wooded car park’ is no more, the visitor being met with ‘No Unauthorised Cars blahblahblah’ signs. Nonetheless, it is still possible to leave one car beside the waterworks building, which I duly do. Failing that, park in nearby Chilham and walk back across the level crossing. Preferably during the seemingly not very frequent intervals when trains are not trundling past. Careful now.
As before, I follow the public footpath across the weir to ascend to Julliberrie’s Downs, the great Neolithic mound slumbering away more-or-less immediately above the red-brick house. Despite it being the depths of winter, the monument is SERIOUSLY overgrown with brambles and not at all obvious. Nevertheless, I’m able to eventually make my way along the crest – albeit with much difficulty, not to mention a scrape of sorts – and reminisce upon times gone by perched upon the truncated northern end...
Several hours later, I’m greeted by a local walking his dog who assumes (the gentleman, not the dog, that is) I’m here to photograph kingfishers on the Great Stour. Damned good idea, to be fair, but not quite – and no such luck today. However, he’s aware there’s a long barrow ‘up there’, no doubt since his daughter happens to be an archaeologist. Trouble is, he explains, it’s not at all easy to identify... even when you’re right on top of it. Ha! Tell me about it.