The Modern Antiquarian. Stone Circles, Ancient Sites, Neolithic Monuments, Ancient Monuments, Prehistoric Sites, Megalithic MysteriesThe Modern Antiquarian

Fieldnotes by Serenissima

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Darley Dale (Ancient Trackway)

Whilst you're talking about St Helen's Church, Stubob, you might want to mention the Sheila-na-Gig inside the church, the Celtic carvings in the porch, and the bizarrely carved tombstones in the graveyard, which include pentacles and skull-and-crossbones. The yew-tree is indeed very ancient, and was old when the builders of the church rested under it's shade.
Is there any reason that 'St Helen's' churches often have a prehistory connection, such as being built on a neolithic earthwork or have standing stones? Or is it just me?
Sorry, I don't know what your markers are Stubub, but I'll look out for them when I'm next that way (I live near Matlock).

Hob Hurst's House (Burial Chamber)

I visited this site first in about 1989, when it was in rather a delapidated (literally) condition and had only a low wire fence around it. Visiting it for a second time in August 2002 I was pleased to find a proper fence and stile around it, therefore keeping the non-seeing from walking all over it, and that the shape of the tomb was much more clearly defined. English Heritage have now also provided an interpretation board', which explains that the poor state of the site is all due to Thomas Bateman's excavations in 1853, and not because English Heritage have neglected it. Ho-hum.
It was very overgrown with ferns and heather in August though. I shall return in Winter methinks.
A curious incident; I had not met a single person all that morning, walking over Gibbet Moor from the Robin Hood pub, but at Hob Hurst's House there was a couple; a middle-aged man and a small, younger, far-Eastern looking woman. The man was in the middle of the enclosure pleading repeatedly with the woman to climb over the stile into the midst of heather and waist-high ferns and see the ancient remains (which, to be honest, aren't exactly impressive). The woman, who was dressed in a skirt and had bare-legs, was understandably not going to do it, and the man started calling in Chinese (or maybe Japanese - hey, I'm no expert) for her to please please please see the 'wonderful' Hob Hurst's House. Eventually he gave in, and he petulantly led her off back across the moors.
If you were that man - shame on you sir!

Wirksworth I (Standing Stone / Menhir)

I came across this enigmatic stone whilst following the prehistoric trackway known later as 'The Portway' on the section from Wirksworth up to Gallows Knoll, along 'Chariot Way' (sic), to Grangeway, then through Winster to Harthill Moor (with its Castle Ring Iron Age fort, Nine Stones Close, Robin Hood's Stride, and the Hermits Cave.
Surely it was used as a marker for travellers on that ancient route, as they ascended the steep hill to within sight of the ancient settlement at Harborough Rocks?
Such I felt, as I saw it standing in the field, a permanence in time that extends millions of years more back when you examine it's limestone heart and see its composition of coral reef shells.

Five Wells (Chambered Tomb)

The good news is - there is now a right of access to Five Wells! Go to the end of Pillwell Lane (off the B-road from Chelmorton to Flagg) and follow the news signposts.
About time! From the chambered tomb you can see Minninglow, Eyam Moor (Wet Withins), Stanton Moor, and - unfortunately - the rape of the Mother that is the refuse tip and Topley Pike Quarry. Grrr!

Seven Stones of Hordron Edge (Stone Circle)

Prevented from seeing it by a Range Rover man bullying us off of his master's land.
"Where do you think you're going?" he bawled
"To pay respect to the stones" black cloaked we replied.
"Dressed like that? You'll get lost on the moors and die from exposure" all care and concern he led us back to the road.
Thanks Mr Range Rover man.

Barbrook IV (Ring Cairn)

Tick.
Seen it.
Shall I bother to return?
No.

Barbrook III (Stone Circle)

Ha! Fifty elves dancing hand in hand, round and round, and me at the centre, dizzy, enchanted, trapped!

Barbrook II (Stone Circle)

An embanked stone circle restored. Restored?
It doesn't feel right.
It might be exactly right, and it is me that is out of kilter, but again again again it doesn't feel right.
More reminiscent of hut circles on Holyhead and in Cornwall, I imagine a conical thatched roof over my head and a secular purpose: the moot-hall for tribal chieftains, or the place to give tribute to the overlord.
But not a sacred space.
Then again: there is definitely signs of a cist, covered by a cup-marked stone, so no doubt at some time at least one of our ancestors was buried here.
But too puzzling. Too restored. Not right.

Barbrook I (Stone Circle)

A freezing cold place at the Winter Solstice, the sun standing still almost defeated by the bright, shiny, slate-grey clouds and flurries of snow.
Trying to light candles in the biting wind, the children stamping their feet to feel them, and the offering of wine left un-corked and frozen.
On the moorsides hereabouts our ancestors lived and toiled, remains of their field systems still evident. It is hoped that the climes were more clement then.
I notice a scar across the middle of the circle; a caesarian cut to birth the Earth Mother's mystery into the hands of the archaeologists. To learn more they should be standing as we are, reverently, shivering, at the turn of the sun and welcoming the youthful Mabon back into the world.

Doll Tor (Stone Circle)

Hidden in a plantation of foreign trees that are alien to the landscape, this tiny circle has been much ravished.
But the feeling of ancient presence prevades it, whispering of dark, shadowy landscapes and torch-lit funeral processions in honour of a powerful, dead, queen.
The hairs on the back of your neck creep, and you turn around quickly and just miss seeing a primeval human darting behind a tree.
Spooky!

Lanyon Quoit (Dolmen / Quoit / Cromlech)

Visited the quoit in an autumn gale, the capstone poised ready to launch itself onto the surf of swelling grass.
Felt like I could ride that board to Men an Tol and out into the Atlantic!

Carn Euny Fogou & Village

Visited at the same time as a 'Harry Safari' minibus full of the elderly and foreign. Well, why not; but I observed that the not so nimble were struggling bending down in the fogou and the non-English speakers were somewhat baffled by Harry's colloquialisms and interpretations of the site (and listening in, so was I). Still, the smiles in their eyes told me that the site had touched them with its mystery, as it did for me.
Rushed on to Men an Tol etc. before the minibus got there. I like people to enjoy the places so beloved to me, but I don't like being part of a tourist attraction as I perform my ceremonies or just sit and meditate. Sorry Harry!

The Merry Maidens (Stone Circle)

Dancing with the maidens at new moon on the autumnal equinox, raising the energy to heal a world reeling from The Lightning Struck Tower(s) across the ocean.
A merry dance of life amongst death; the joy of here and now, and place and time.
I finished by laying down in the centre, in the Shape of the Cross, and clung to the earth as the stars carried on dancing in a circle above me.
Returned to Treverven campsite and a celebratory feast of the Maiden's blackberries, and scrumpy, in our tent.

Arbor Low (Circle henge)

I came for the Midwinter Solstice dawn and marched around the broken clock face beating my bodhran drum. Round and round, winding in the sun, pulling it over the horizon, wrestling with it like the Old Man of the Sea.
Soft light on recumbrant stones that felt like fossilised clouds which had fallen to Earth - so solidly grounded and yet so weightless.
An old woman lays a sprig of holly on the altar in the cove. Red blood berries dripping onto white stone.
The midwinter sun is rising. Hallelujah! Oh Ai! Oh Ai! The Goddess's consort has returned to waken her from the dead. Spring will come again and surely melt the slabs of ice laid out like a frozen splash at Arbor Low.

Mam Tor (Hillfort)

Cling to the Mother lest the winds blow you cartwheeling over Castleton, tossed like the hang-gliders below their flimsy gashes of colour against a perfect blue sky.
Cling to the Mother, like you clung to your own mother's breast, and press your ear to the grass to hear the mountain's heartbeat.
Cling to the Mother, to hold on to her before she slips away down the slope, her body crushed up for the smoking cement works you see below.

Five Wells (Chambered Tomb)

Sitting just sitting on a sunny summers day high above the Peak District her patchworked soft rounded beauty laid out before me.
The ancient slumbering stones behind me like frozen surf. An entrance to the Otherworld where centuries seem like minutes and if you drink the wine you have to stay for ever.
Bliss!
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