Jane

Ah!.... the great long barrow of Waylands Smithy. Is it the great beech trees which give the barrow so much intimacy? Why does it feel so much like home? I have lost count of the times I have been here for painting, picnics, loving, birdwatching, healing, photography, chillin’, and now grieving and celebrating all at once. Sitting above the chamber on the capstone I look down into the mouth of the barrow and think of the beautiful, newly dead, feline body of Finbarr gracefully lying in her grave in my garden, 18 miles away. God, I loved that cat. But Waylands has eradicated the grief and now I remember with joy all the love we shared.

I was curious to see the phenomenon of the way that although the long barrow is tapered, that if you stand at the very end, the edges of it appear parallel. ‘Accident or design?’ I mused. Gotta be design. Surely? Very clever in any case.

...a peculiar beast indeed, lurking in its own picket-fenced enclosure in front of a line of small chalk-built cottages. It seems so lost and lonely, ‘what great site had this been part of?’, I wondered. It felt like the last of its line, a curiosity like a stuffed animal in a museum. But having said that, I liked it hugely and enjoyed it’s quirky resting place nestling at a crossroads in deepest Oxfordshire.

Stanton Harcourt is an ancient village 8 miles west of Oxford on the B4449. It got the ‘Harcourt’ part of it’s name from a Norman family who settled here in the 15th century, I believe. The Harcourt family still live in the manor house.

‘Stanton’, of course means ‘place of the stones’ – as indeed it has – the magnificent rebuilt henge, the Devil’s Quoits. But other rich archaeological finds in the river gravels have been made round the village and have been explored in C4s “Time Team” programme.

The quarrying of river gravels have revealed incredible finds of more than 900 bones and teeth of animals including mammoth, elephant, horse, bison, bear, lion and hyena, many in almost perfect condition.

There is evidence that climactic change 200,000 years ago forced the shift of the position of the River Thames, leaving rich fertile grasslands and big prey animals for early human settlers to exploit.

Excavations by various agencies during the past 15 years have revealed stone- and bronze-age tools. burials, beaker peoples settlements and more. Some seriously important finds were made during the excavation of Gravelly Guy.

Thanks to Pure Joy’s post (below) we didn’t miss the little wooden sign at the side of the road and easily found this little piece of prehistoric loveliness.

‘We’re big and cute and white, white, white!’ the stones scream at you as the massive pillars of sugar dance intimately at the edge of a field. Just above their angular footprints I noticed that a wide strip through the bottom quarter of each stone (at the same height on each stone) seemed pinker than the rest – modern environmental conditions or deliberate ancient artistry?... I couldn’t tell. But it was very pretty nevertheless as the stones glittered with Hollywood glamour in the bright spring sunshine. Glencullen eight times over...

I only had 10 minutes here
which was a real pity
The sun was out, the sky was blue
And the grass was not cow-shitty

I would have liked to think of stars
with which they were aligning
In the sparkling sun I saw the stars
In their surfaces a-shining

I would have liked to sit and stare
Till the stones gave me snowblindness
But I had to leave so I just bowed
And thanked them for their kindness

Walking through Wychwood forest (part of the Cornbury estate, some game keepers with big smokin’ rifles cocked who were shooting squirrels approached us, and said ‘you’re going the wrong way’. I said: ‘no I’m not’. They wanted to know if we had permission to be there, which we did. They turned out to be really friendly and interested in the long barrow.

A big Roe Deer galloped through the trees in front of us away from the gunfire.

Churchill Copse long barrow is virtually an unrecognisable ruin and had it not been sited in the forest would’ve been lost to ploughing years ago. As it is, the only way to spot it is that it’s an overgrown earthen lump about 60 ft long, maybe more, at the track side which swings round slightly to get past it. There’s no stones, no naffink. Just another ancient monument being reclaimed by its environment. Very sad.

...things looked no brighter at Lyneham long barrow. Just metres from the busy A361, this once mighty construction is reduced to a vast mound of thickly be-mossed rubble with thorny trees growing in a tangle out of the top if it. Wrecked, ruinous and depressing to see it. The one bright spot is the beautiful square outlying stone, standing proud, 6 foot tall, made of the same Oolitic rock as the Hawk stone and the Rollrights. Weather beaten, lichened and yet glowing in the spring sunshine, I grasped it as a pinprick of hope that the longbarrow might not be lost. Not yet, anyway.

...talking of ancient monuments being reclaimed by their environment... this long barrow is practically indistinguishable from an edge-of-farm-dumping-ground, the big tump standing hopelessly neglected surrounded by rusting tractors, discarded agricultural detritus and is hidden beneath a thick growth of scrubby trees. Climbing over the fence to trespass, I took my machete* and hacked my way through the brambles to climb it and walk round it. It rises about 12 feet from ground level and is badly pockmarked in its south side by badgers’ holes.

Very sad to see a once important structure reduced to weeping in the corner of a forgotten field.

*I lied about the machete

On the map this appears as an earthwork. I suspect it’s horribly ruined with not much to see. Tried to take a look but it would’ve meant trespassing at the back of an Expensive Person’s stables and I didn’t fancy it. Expensive People often have firearms.

Our ability to read maps and chart a course through the delightful Wychwood forest on rough trackways meant we found Slatepits Copse Long barrow more easily than I could have hoped. Its about 70ft long and appears to be melting back into the undergrowth of the forest effortlessly, as trees and scrub overtake it. The chamber is clearly visible at the front of the mound, whos profile undulates, its back broken by poor excavations in 1850 I believe, when three skulls were found.

The only hint to the passer by (or trespasser) to it existance on the ground are the three great flat stones which form the chamber at the western end. We sat in amongst the fallen branches by the chamber and enjoyed the utter peace of being pretty much alone (but for squirrels, deer, birds) in this fairy-like woodland.

Badly neglected, yet probably only still in existance by its position tucked away deep in a remote corner of Wychwood forest.

I liked it here.

Standing proudly in a field at the back of the village, atop the highest point in the locality, 200 feet up it has great views over rolling scenery. About 50ft in diameter the great earth tump reminds me bit of Hetty Peglars, but there’s no grand entrance, no stones to see, nothing. Just 6 great trees and a triangulation post sticking out of it.

Its very much the king of the castle, and probably been saved from being ploughed over by virtue of its commanding position.

Its on private land, so to reach it, find the Fox PH and just to the right of this between two houses (called The New House and No 1, The Green, I think) is a gate into the field. You’ll see it there in front of you.

It was too grey, misty and evil to attempt Scorhill without a GPS and an OS map, so we found this instead and... Oooooh it’s lovely!

A little hidden gemstone – fairy-like, peaceful and gorgeous, though how much of the 19th century rebuild of it is ‘true’ I don’t know. It seems almost too picture-book to have been really like this. The Uprights are slim and tapering, carefully worked into flat plains and angles whilst still retaining the character of the rock (which has what appears to be quartz oven chips tossed into the mix). The Capstone is a highly worked mushroom-like structure and the base of it stands 5’7” from ground level – not quite high enough for me to stand upright in.

The grey horse mentioned by Pure Joy’s post (below) still shares his field with this sweet little cromlech, which perhaps ought to be renamed Fairyglen Stones, Enchanted Pebbles or Magic Mushroom Rocks. Would be a delightful place to fire the imaginations of your kids and introduce them to the thrills of megalithic Britain.

A bugger to find but we finally reach it and suddenly I get that tingle. Its gobsmacking! Treaclechops has been reading ‘The Vagina Monologues’ to me as I drive here, and hey, seeing Stoney Littleton it all make sense! Here is a great vagina made of stone and earth and tufty hummocks and light and shade. I love the way its profile rises from the hillside like a great mound of venus. We crawl in. I love the way it goes DOWN with the curve of the hillside, WOW. I crawl s-q-u-e-e-z-i-n-g-l-y out of the darkness of its long, long passage and blinkingly I re-emerge. I feel reborn. What a place. What a fucking place!

A real survivor, big and bold, but like an old war horse, badly scarred and needing nurture. Despite being such a big complex – three circles! – it didn’t get me going. It felt broken and somehow bereft. My state of mind perhaps? The stones are massive, impressive with highly worked flat surfaces, and as big as the monsters at Avebury. Impressively rose-coloured with peppermint lichen, the sun cast great dark shadows and allowed the spring green of the grass to sing. I made a sketch but came away feeling sad. Up at the Cove, by the church, conveniently situated in the garden of the Druid’s Arms, a monumental stone of the weirdest shape defies gravity and bends over to the left. I leave feeling sad.

A great shining white sugar cube of a lump of quartz with an entirely square footprint! Christ, if it wasn’t disrespectful to the lichen which had made there home upon it, I would be tempted to scrub it back to its Persilwhiteness to see it glow, glow, glow. An iceberg in a field.

It reminded me of the solitary and proud beauty of the Hawkstone in Oxfordshire. Gorgeous.

The gloriously incongruous Ballybrack portal tomb has survived against all the odds, and somehow now found itself on a piece of wasteland in a ghastly, grey council estate... the sort of wasteland where small boys play football and girls go to gossip and bitch. I guess the tomb makes a change from a bus shelter. Tiny, almost cute, the underside of the capstone was worked so as to be completely flat. Astonishing. From one angle it resembled an upturned grandpiano. Amidst the dogshit, I sat and made a quick sketch.

Remarkable place.

Deceptively small as you approach, you catch a glimpse of it through the trees at the top of the hill. As you scamble down the slope into the intimacy of the tiny valley below you become aware of the sound of the babbling of a brook just behind it, and the dolmen seems to enlarge in front of your very eyes!

And suddenly it becomes massive, significant and overwhelming. The capstone is vast and completely flat on its underside and front aspect. Some of the support stones have been stepped in order for the angle of the capstone to be just-so. And its deep too. the chamber at least two feet below the level of the ground surrounding. We sat, and looked and looked. I drew, and despite the cold and I couldn’t resist painting the beast directly. It took ages for the paint to dry, but the result was worth it.

Feelings? You know that little tingle of excitement...

Ah! This really is the dolmen of my dreams – and HUGE thanks to the delightful Four Winds for taking me there.