treaclechops

The Goddess certainly blessed Karen and I the day we visited Tinkinswood, St. Lythans, the Pont-y-Pridd Rocking Stone, and Notgrove. The forecasters had predicted a sunny start, with cloud rolling in by the afternoon. But the Goddess had different ideas, and we were blessed with glorious June weather; blazing sun, brilliant blue skies, puffy altocumulus clouds and stunningly green fields for the whole day.Which made the arrival at Tinkinswood all the more fantastic. We walked through a fabulous hay meadow, rich with wild flowers and butterflies, the grasses whispering in the breeze, as chaffinches called to each other. Continuing up a slope, past hawthorns and more butterflies, eventually we caught sight of the magnificent capstone atop the gently swelling cairn.

A sign at the kissing gate that allowed entry to the cairn announced that ‘this site is being managed for the Secretary of State for Wales by Welsh Monuments’ (or some such body, I can’t remember exactly). Anyway, more importantly, someone had scratched out ‘Secretary of State for Wales’, and replaced it with ‘Goddess’. Well done, whoever you are!!! :-)

Tinkinswood is a truly impressive site. I mean how, just how, did they get that capstone up the hill, then erect it over the cairn? Staggering. The atmosphere was so serene and nurturing, it was lovely to just lie in the grass and drink it in. And I was very impressed how the energy continued to be so strong, as only a few hundred yards away, in the next field, a stonking great electricity pylon loomed over her. In addition to that, the chaps who had excavated the site in 1914 had built an unlovely brick pillar inside the chamber to support the capstone (which is great, but *brick*?). But they couldn’t leave it at that. Oh no. Just so everyone remembers, they thought, let’s slap into the pillar a dirty great plaque that says ‘Excavated 1914’, right at the front, so no-one can miss it – corking! Thanks guys. . . But ignoring that, and the pylons, I really enjoyed our time at this site, and was very reluctant to leave; her magnetism was subtle, but very strong. Do pay her a visit.

The delightful Jane possesses the ability to locate megalithic sites using only a few tenuous directions and her Inner Goddess. Just as well really, when you’re surrounded by a lush growth of meadow flora, with no idea where the circle you’re seeking is located.We had entered the field, Jane heading left, while I headed right. After a few minutes, I heard her yell emphatically “I’ve found her!” “Where?!” I yelled back, almost having a coronary as a cock pheasant exploded from the undergrowth two feet to my right.

I had been expecting to find Little Meg on an exposed patch of bare earth, as in the picture in TMA; but when we got there, we had to beat back the nettles and grasses from this badly broken and sorely neglected circle.

Nonetheless, Little Meg continues to exude a compact and serene energy, still calmly working away despite what the years throw at her. I liked her hugely, and I also liked the fact she was nestled amidst the green, fecund bounty of the summer; seemed more respectful than exposure on dry earth. Worth a visit, especially on a combined trip of Castlerigg] and [[Long Meg. Bit concerned that the carved spirals appear to be more eroded than the pictures in TMA, though.

Breathtaking . . . stunning . . . bewitching; I was bowled over by this site. After a few sharp turns round country roads, the stones suddenly appeared, the size of the place became evident, and the impulse to get amongst them was huge. Like the delightful Jane, I was out the other side of the car before it stopped moving, haring up the slope before the handbrake had been applied. Thank the stars for a very understanding driver!

Long Meg herself is wonderfully powerful, and a fabulous embodiment of the Earth Goddess. She’s constructed from red sandstone, contrasting wonderfully with the Daughters (or Lovers). I found her superbly pregnant, and so intriguing.As was the circle itself. The most obvious thing was the total lack of a sense of scale, which was very weird. Also fascinating is its construction on a slope, so that it was impossible to see the whole of it in one go – from certain angles, anyway. Had the earth shifted since it was built? Whatever, it certainly contributed to a fascinating energy.

And this energy became very prevalent when I began taking photos. (No word of a lie, it interfered completely with my composition, which was very bizarre. Even when applying the rules of composition, many of the stones said “No, we’d look better in mirror image; which you can’t do, so there!”) I wondered if it was because I was walking anti-clockwise round the inside of the circle, so tried it different ways, but I still didn’t feel entirely happy with what I was photographing. I remarked on this to Mum (who had waited to get out of the car, once it had come to a complete halt), and she said “Well, maybe you’re not supposed to be photographing from inside the circle; they might not be looking in, but looking out.” So I tried that, and it all flowed together much more easily. Switched on woman, my Mum.

And the Goddess seemed to approve of Mum’s take on things, because literally out of nowhere in a dark and cloudy sky, the sun miraculously broke through, blessing us all with twenty minutes of gorgeous modelling light. Hooray! (Jane and the rest of the party told me later that I was running around like a mad woman, yelping with glee, and pumping loads of film through the camera). No Spaniards, either. (See Castlerigg . . . )I guess I just naturally assumed all stone circles were facing inwards – of course, it makes infinitely more sense to have them facing out, thereby protecting the energy within. (OK, so a few of us are slow on the uptake).

Whatever was going on, Long Meg and Her Daughters/Lovers is a magnificent site, and worth a Cumbrian weekend away as soon as possible! Prepare to be spellbound and enchanted; meanwhile, I’ll wait for my photos to be developed – and I get the feeling that they’re not going to be *quite* what I’m expecting . . .

As the delightful Jane said, last Saturday it was one bloody visitor after another. Hordes of ‘em. In addition, there was very bad light, threatening to turn into that sort of insipid gloom that works to suck every last vestige of contrast from a scene. But I speak as a photographer.

As a visitor of megalithic sites, it was wonderful to return to Castlerigg after a seven year absence. Then, I was seeing it for the first time on a cold, overcast winter’s day. The whole place was very muddy, populated by sheep, and punctuated by the occasional hardy soul clothed in Gore-Tex and a strong constitution. It was idyllic, breathtaking and magical.

I had forgotten just how small and diminutive it seemed, surrounded by the imposing mountains and dramatic, rolling skies. Small, and perfectly formed. The sheep were still there, but had moved off a little, and I was looking forward to getting some more interesting photos with the different type of light.

The stormy rolling clouds were hinting at the possibility of some gorgeous soft modelling light, and with the insane obsession only a photographer possesses, I laid in the extremely damp grass, avoiding as best I could sheep turds and muddy patches. The light glimmered, and instantly the stones began to sing, poetry against the plunging valley now lit with soft sunshine. Perfect!

Scrabbling up, covered in muck, I swiftly moved to get a shot of the massively female stone that formed part of the intriguing cist within the circle – exquisite, exquisite light; long lens; harmonious picture, here it comes . . . as did four garrulous Spaniards, who sauntered into shot, lit fags, hung around, sat on the stones, took pictures sporadically – and NEVER when the light was at it’s best, aarrgghh! – before ambling disinterestedly off to their car. Ten minutes of hanging about as if they were outside a coffee bar in Madrid. I ask you. The pain!

I wouldn’t mind, but it’s a long old drive from Oxfordshire, and as a non-driver, it’s even harder to get places. So with that, and the regular flow of people, this wasn’t quite the experience I was hoping for. Heigh ho. And that was it, really. The light went, the stones didn’t have quite their previous essence, and I returned to Jane and our group, swearing never to buy another Seville orange. Meanwhile, Jane was reclining on a heavy duty Eastern rug, having knocked out a lovely painting without any humans cluttering it up. I’m sure these water-colourists have it far too easy . . .

Had reservations about this site, not least because the stone circle around the Rocking Stone itself is relatively young – 100yrs old or so. Nonetheless, it was on the route home from Tinkinswood and St. Lythans.

After some madness driving round Pont-y-Pridd itself, we finally made it up to the steep hillside park where the stone lives. One advantage was the glorious June weather, but as we approached the stone, I did feel it looked a little like a modern sculpture park installation.

Our mood wasn’t heightened by finding the whole site littered with fag ends, fag boxes, crisp packets, and most ignobly, a pair of cola cans jammed in the crevice of the ‘rocking’ part. Helpfully, however, some oik had left a plastic bag lying in the grass, so swift housekeeping soon had the energy more upbeat. The other thing to go upbeat was my blood pressure when I spotted a litter bin only 20 feet away, directly opposite the stone. Small wonder this country has a problem with obesity; everyone stuffs their faces, but can’t be bothered to get any exercise by walking to the bin. However, I digress.

I liked the Rocking Stone greatly, and it felt wonderful to lay one’s hands on it’s smooth, dark, curvaceous sun-baked surface. Very calming and centering. As other contributors have noted, all the graffiti scratched into the top was none too pleasant, but that was soon lost in the energy flowing from the stone. We tarried awhile in the sunshine, taking photos, and came home pleased that we had gone there after all; it holds it’s own, despite all the ignomies surrounding it – kind of reassuring, really.

I had seen this site marked in the AA Driver’s Atlas of the British Isles, so assumed it would be worth visiting, despite not having heard much about it previously. As the AA only seem to mark important or distinguished sites, it had to be worth a look, especially as I enjoy photgraphing these places.My friend Karen and I decided to visit it as the last site on a trip taking in Tinkinswood Long Barrow, St. Lythans Dolmen, and the Pont-y-Pridd Rocking Stone.

As we are from Oxfordshire, by the time we were on the return leg from Wales, it was late in the evening, and therefore a race aginst time before the light ran out.Finally arriving with minutes to spare, I leapt out of the car, ran excitedly through the gate, and was confronted by a huge, featureless, and overgrown grassy mound that was virtually swamped by the surrounding vegetation.

Karen spotted a small sign that gave a few details about the barrow, finishing with the fact that it was managed by Gloucestershire County Council, who had thoughtfully backfilled the whole thing in 1979 to prevent vandalism. Hmmm . . . .

Unfortunately, all GCC managed that evening was to provide a deep sense of loss and disappointment. That sort of logic suggests burying Gloucester Cathedral, in order to keep costs down and prevent vandalism.It’s a real pity this site hasn’t been properly maintained, as clearly, it’s very important. Is there a ‘Save Notgrove’ site at all, much like the successful Stoney Littleton one?