Some bimbles make you yearn to return even before you leave. This place is so good that people have been bumbling around here since 4500BC. The Avebury area is fascinating and one visit only scratches the surface, intriguing the bumbler into further forays. My memory of visiting as a courting youth was much different as I remember a village surrounded by enigmatic stones visited on my way to Glastonbury but little else. Now older and wiser my approach was more informed and my vantage points more considered.
I parked on the Avenue of Stones so that my approach to Avebury village would be more spectacular. The henge itself is only part of the wonders lying around an area that has been designated a World Heritage site. History buzzes in the air as stones charged with mystical energy invite the wanderer to hug them and feel the vibes. I lay down by stones, put my palms upon them, which seemed to be the most common practice, only stopping short of licking the lichen on them. Too weird.
Avebury is a great place for people watching. Coaches unload all nationalities coming to experience the living history and Neolithic wonders. A Belgian trip disgorged into the manor house whilst I was there, lively Walloons having an un-self conscious, hilarious time in themed rooms, taking selfies on the four poster bed and pretending to be English in stuffy drawing rooms. Some tourists look mildly bemused by the attraction of a bunch of oversized stones dug up a few thousand years ago and stood up on their ends. What else would you do in ancient Briton once you had caught a few boar and milled your wheat? The human drive to create fantasy worlds and feudal orders seems innate. Arch Droods are a necessary part of the structure of human society. The spiritual shaman and seer, leader of ceremonies, enlivening the tired lives of the hoi polloi with mysterious twaddle. There were a few wannabees ambling through the stones marking their territory with staff in hand and mystical woollen outerwear and mysterious sandals.
The buses are mostly on whistle stop tours, so often a quick wander round the henge, the village shops and a photo is all visitors get. There is an impression of a thousand Bill Brysons popping in for a cup of tea and a walk around the stones before heading off to Little Dribbling, with only a brief note in the journal. Which is a shame as the larger site has so much to offer someone with time on their side. It is hard not to get drawn into the delights of the second hand bookshop, National Trust tea shop and a generically alternative shop which is banking on punters feeling the commodified new age vibe enough to spend £20 on a rainstick. Full of incense and awareness this type of shop can be seen across the West Country offering healing crystals, self help guides and miniature models of ancient goddesses of fertility and fecundity. The models in Avebury were linked explicitly, and they were explicit, to Silbury Hill; a representation of womanhood and fertility; the hill as the womb and the source of the River Kennet. Analogies are made to ancient Indian and Mayan cultures, peoples who also worshipped the earth mother figure. It all makes for an intriguing narrative and brings the landscape to life in another dimension. Hamish Miller provides an illuminating insight in ‘The Serpent and the Rainbow’ a slightly mystical text bringing the secrets of Avebury to life. Avebury can be viewed as the body of a Serpent passing through a circle. This symbol has been adopting as a sign of alchemy and spirituality and would make a good tattoo if you want to really join the tribe. A more informative guide by Steve Marshall is an excellent guide to the landscape of Avebury
With this knowledge of wombs and yonis fresh in my mind I
approached Silbury Hill with a new sense of awe. And it is an awesome sight in
all its pudding shaped glory; rising like Uluru from the green and pleasant
land. I approached from the East so that
I climbed the hill from the Avenue of Stones to amp up the drama and to gain a
good perspective for the photo I had in my mind’s eye which would be blown up
and adorn the white space on my kitchen wall. The sun was shining, the
dandelions formed a field of ghostly stems, their golden heads turned a fairy
grey ready to transport their seeds skyward with the next breath of wind.
I’m convinced I heard skylarks in the chalky
fields as I mounted the ridge. And there she stood, one of those magical sights,
like seeing the mysterious Vale of Avalon, with its hills like a drought borne
sea of sugar lumps after cresting the Mendips.
Magnificent in its majesty as a Neolithic monument. Whispering of long lost worlds and the toil
of long lost tribes of Ancient Britons.
It is hard not to be moved into mystic reverie by such a feat of
primitive engineering. The backdrops of
lush greens, ploughed browns and the vivid yellow of the rapeseed raised my
spirits and hopes of a memorable photograph. This would be an excellent spot for a sunset
photo if you can get the angles correct.
I am sure I am not the first to have noticed her photogenic quality and
the postcards in the henge shop confirmed this; snow covered images and ones
with a flooded field providing foreground made me less confident about the
uniqueness of my own Beltain scene. The mystery surrounding its creation is
intriguing and there are theories such as a burial mound or thrice built
barrow. I think it marks the end of the Ridgway and links with Avebury as a
sacred meeting place for ancient tribes to trade, celebrate their ancestors and
possibly perform funeral rites. As the sun and moon would play a major part in
any rituals then alignments with physical points for solstice sunrises make
sense in these fragments of Ancient lore. I can see how this is the end of a
pathway, a meeting of ley lines, the terminus of a pilgrimage to some kind of
sanctuary or holy place or a temple that was a
sacred space for 2300 years.
A mysterious golden bird appeared as I walked up the Avenue
of Stones. Not upon a bough but upon a Sarsen stone. It could have been a Yellowhammer or a Greenfinch
but I settled on a Goldfinch in its spring plumage. Zooming in on the photo
doesn’t help identification as this was a bright canary yellow. I took it as a
sign from the Ancients and a message from the stones that I was in a good
place.
Filled with wonder and eager to return I plan to visit at
sunrise at solstice time to sample the magical energy. The more one learns
about this sacred meeting place and the largest stone circle in Europe the less
you seem to know which always excites the eager mind. I will explore Kennet Long Barrow, The
Sanctuary and various outlying stones casually abandoned on the chalky downs. I
will walk the Neolithic highway of the Ridgway…
