A bimble round Stonehenge

Perhaps the most striking view in the UK is the one which greets the driver on the A303 as the mighty stones appear on the horizon. Like seeing the Vale of Avalon as you crest the Mendips or how I would imagine first sighting Rannoch Moor? Seeing Stonehenge for the first time, stark against the sky is a wow moment, followed soon after by a fade into the what the bloody hell is going on with this road moment.  Queuing traffic in the countryside at 7am is not normal is it?  Most are slowing to study the monuments but there is a distinct clash between the ancient and the modern that no-one has yet overcome despite stories of tunnels and by passes.  The henge is the reason most people travel to the county of Wiltshire unless you are in the military.  As a man from Tennessee told me this is just like our state back home, 'the state of blowing shit up.'  Evidence of the Ministry of Defence is everywhere from barracks to signs for sinister corporations with dubious names like QinetiQ, straight out of a Bond film. The haunting presence of Porton Down hinted at apocalyptic chemical warfare, a feeling heightened by the proximity to Novichok central formerly known as Salisbury, down in the valley.   It is this juxtaposition of the ancient and the warlike that defines the area around Stonehenge as one big sepulchre for me and left a feeling of unwelcome trespass, as if I wasn't party to the real secrets of the area. Or maybe I was just in a bad mood.

Determined to gain the full experience I was first in line at the visitor centre and had to wait to park the van. Too early for the shuttle bus, I walked up to the stones with other early birds and wandered around the stones in the morning sun.  The site cannot fail to impress and the protection afforded by the ropes limiting access became clear as the hordes arrived soon after.  Initially I was in the camp of those wanting unfettered access, hearing Kerouac's cry,' once man gets separated from his rivers waddya got?' I had no idea so many people existed and soon wondered what neolithic man would make of the selfie stick.  Without protection the site itself would soon be eroded by these feet of less ancient times. It is peculiar to experience thousands of people descending upon the circle and wandering in a slow funereal procession punctuated by stops for selfies. the whole scene becomes surreal as the ubiquitous audio guides buzz away in a polyglot of languages as a zombified league of nations amble past. Some people were on the phone with audio guide blaring at the same time.  'I can't hear you I've got the audio guide on!'

Rather quickly the stones become less of a focus than the people, phantasmagoric people watching exercise as all ages and ethnicities disgorged from the bus and filed through, expressing varying degrees of wonder and bemusement. I was fascinated with body dysmorphia, the varying physical abilities and the sheer numbers.  I'm not sure how much visitors were gaining from the experience but there was no doubt this sometime ruin had become a modern day gold-mine. And what do all these blimming people do with all their photos?  Write a blog or sum fink?

The tide of humanity is a real shock in contrast to the remoteness of the location on top of the chalky downs.  It would seem that the ditch was the original eye-catcher, exposing the gleaming white chalk holding the altar on the hill. Radio carbon dating of antler picks used to dig the ditch and chalk avenues that led the eye to the horizon dated back to nearly 3000BC. The wave of settlers from Europe had wiped out the hunters and foragers in isolated glory a thousand years before and now the chalk and flint of the Downs was key to building a civilisation where tools could be used to inspire glorious mounmunets to lift humanity above the beasts. This must have been a key site on Ancient routes linking the prospering Southern lands of Britain.



I imagine a visit in the depths of winter would add to the drama exposed on the chalky uplands, this bare monument to man's desire to leave a trace. Only then could I imagine aurochs and boar wandering the site and corpses exposed to the leaden sky being picked clean by crows and ravens. One can't help but be transported to Ancient Britain as druids established some sort of ceremonial centre along the ridge of chalk that runs from Avebury and on into in Dorest and North East to Ivinghoe Beacon and beyond.  The landscape is riddled with barrows and sarsens and one can only wonder at the antiquities lost to the plough and resourceful farmers let along the munitions of marauding infantry.  There is an argument that the military occupation of the Salisbury Downs has done wonders for ecology and re-wilded vast areas but how would anyone know? It sounds like they are more concerned with blowing shit up as my American friend snorted in derision.

My impression was that this was a vast burial site with Ancient Britons bringing their dead many miles to the white sepulchre n top of the ridgeway.  Here they may have lain the corpses to be picked clean by birds or scorched and purified in fore before the bones were put to rest in a burial mound.  The barren nature of the downs and the significance of the ceremony of the stones seemed deathly.  Although mild in a summers sun this place would be whipped and wasted by winds and inhospitable particularly on the Winter Equinox when things seemed to line up. Most ancestral cultures seem to observe the cult of death and the whole place asks the question where do we go?  We seem as mystified as the Ancients and there is a sense that maybe they knew a bit more than the multitudes flocking to pay homage to this ritualistic site.  It provides a sense of mystery if not quite magic and allows the visitor moments of reflection. This area easier to find in solitude rather than the heaving masses of the visitor centre and it was easy to escape to the wider site to explore the Cursus, an ancient.

Another odd monument within walking distance is 'Woodhenge' which was near a much more habitable site at Larkhill where excavations prove a significant settlement had been peopled for many generations.  One can only wonder why some of the wealth generated by English Heritage could not reveal or restore some of the linked sites.  An underwhelming series of concrete posts rather took the magic out of this site. It would probably take a morning's coffers to erect a replica of the timber posts to create an awesome installation replicating Neolithic life.  The preference is to preserve rather than resurrect  and I got a sense that this was a touchy subject locally as it was all too near to MOD business to warrant drawing unwanted attention. The eternal conflict between tourism and blowing shit up was clearly marked in the dereliction of these linked sites. Tourists seemed to be there under duress in our military state. Not too many questions please or they will be wondering what else has gone missing.

A more rewarding walk is available to the more intrepid and is probably where the area comes into its own as the mighty henge is only the centre-piece, a portal to the secrets of our pagan past.  There are many approaches and the best I found was from below leading up to the stones from the River Avon. I was a bit disillusioned by the military presence in so scared a site and the home building frenzy by the old barracks and the vast numbers of people. Feeling frazzled I descended into the valley to find a softer landing.

I had heard about Old Sarum in History lessons at school and I remembered its significance as a rotten borough electing 2 MP's until the 1832  despite being a relic from a bygone age.  Like 'little dunny on the wold' where one Baldrick was elected this place was a symbol of feudal corruption until the 1832 Reform Act. A symbol of the power of the landed classes which haunts British history. Tolpuddle is down the road and the Luddites were active in this county, agricultural labourers who rioted in sheer frustration and near starvation at the inequity of service to landed masters. Blaming new machinery they took their frustrations out on inanimate objects and many were transported to distant lands.  The site of Old Sarum was itself another shining white beacon and must have been inspired by the precedent on the Downs above. William the Conqueror utilised the chalk in the hill to highlight a grand cathedral on the hill, inspiring awe into the Anglo-Saxons below. Over time the location of a city in such a high spot became impractical and Old Sarum declined as the epicentre of Norman rule.  Carrying water and provisions up the hill day after day would soon lose any appeal. The city itself moved to the site in the valley below to become the pivotal mediaeval city of Salisbury at the meeting place of five rivers and the trade of Southern Britain.

WH Husdon laments the tidying of the ruins of Old Sarum and uncovering of the Norman cathedral walls. He enjoyed the solitude of the ruin as nature had taken this historical giant into relative obscurity.  He would be apoplectic today as English heritage have commodified and sanitised the experience. The balance between conservation and preservation and turning Britain into a museum full of fun days out isa tricky one. The National Trust had bumper crowds this year with some sites and beaches unable to cope. The Poldark effect took hold in Cornwall making sites inaccessible. Perhaps the ack of imagination of the public is to blame. A little more adventure such as approaching the sites in the gloaming may be more rewarding. Some things should be left and Stonehenge was the apotheosis of this.  I remember walking about Xanthos in Turkey completely alone and swimming down rivers with Turkish boys jumping off Lycian tombs.   Of course the den side of this is someone comes along and takes them off to a museum in order to preserve the antiquity.  There was something magical about wandering through the undergrowth to fins a Roman proscenium arch covered in vines.  This was 20 years ago though and I imagine there are few places left in the age of Instagram.

 Old Sarum provided the backdrop for Rosie's holiday rest. Although it was a somewhat unedifying spot by a housing estate it was ideal for exploring the area. The walk up to Sarum Hill in the evenings was full of birdsong and batwings and the views rewarded the endeavour and allowed a perspective for a sortie upon Salisbury following the River Avon downhill.