Tag Archives: Neolithic

A Dorset Weekend With The Silent Eye – Part Four

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As the seasons tumble from summer into autumn, the fields turning to gold, I realise that it’s already October and I still haven’t finished writing up my account of The Silent Eye weekend I attended in June. I suppose I’ve been on a blog break (I’ve been doing a lot but have little to report as yet; however, stay posted), so I guess that’s one excuse.

But I also think that Maiden Castle, which was the next stop on our weekend, is somewhere that I’m still processing, the echoes of our visit there ringing through my mind. It was massive, in so many ways. Sue had warned me, the previous afternoon, as we were making our mad time-twisting dash between churches. ‘I want to see your expression,’ she said, ‘when you first see it.’

I hope it was suitably awed – I know I felt it. I can still remember the gut punch of that moment – the first glimpse of giant ramparts crowning an ancient hill, the whole almost too big to take in at once. The nearby burial mounds, rising dark against the flat green of the summerlands, and the rumpled earthworks that marked the maze leading you into the castle itself. It was quite something, and that was before we’d even left the carpark…

‘Do you feel as though you’re about to be tested?’ My companion nodded. She did, she said. I said that I did, too, looking up at the high green walls of the castle. It was an excited, rather than anxious, feeling, but definitely there, a weight of expectation, that somehow I was about to be challenged and would emerge changed by the experience…

It was a very strange feeling, but one that was inescapable. Perhaps a fitting culmination to a weekend where I had felt power building, the land moving towards the solstice. We took the pathway leading up to the entrance, tall grasses and wildflowers waving either side of us. Once these hills had been chalk-white, the grass now covering them removed. Even now, clothed in green and weathered by millennia, the scale was still impressive. Archaeological surveys have discovered that the hilltop was first enclosed during Neolithic times, about 6,000 years ago, and by the Iron Age (around 800BC) it was the pre-eminent settlement in the area, with the labyrinthine entrances and towering banks and ditches in place. The fort remained occupied until the arrival of the Romans in 43AD, a time when most local hill-forts were no longer used, further reinforcing the significance of the site. Even now, it is one of the largest and most complex hill forts in Europe. However, once the Romans settled the nearby time of Durnovaria (now Dorchester), the fort finally fell out of use, other than as a site for a Roman temple (more on that later in this post).

Apparently, there had been activities planned by our guides (sorry, Sue!) but my companion and I, both driven by the same inescapable urge, headed into the labyrinth, leaving the group behind. We each took a different path, meeting at the entrance to the fort where, once again, we felt we had to take opposite paths. My companion headed one way along the ramparts while I took the other…

… and all at once I was wearing leather and furs, shield and sword and bow strapped to me, strong and confident as I patrolled the edge. I knew my focus needed to be outwards, that inside the walls was fire and warmth and welcome, and that it was my job to make sure it was protected…

I stumbled, my hair flying in my face, as I reached a part when the ramparts dipped down. I remember feeling annoyed, as though this section was difficult to defend, a weak spot. However, I picked up the pace again, continuing around to the other entrance to the fort. There is nothing left now of the roundhouses that used to dot the interior, but there are remnants of more recent inhabitants. And that was where I knew I needed to go.

The Roman temple at Maiden Castle sits on what is thought to have been an earlier, pre-Christian temple on the site, as there is evidence it sits within the remains of a roundhouse. It actually consisted of several buildings, although only fragments of wall remain. Roman artefacts, including a hoard of coins, have been found in the temple and at other sites on the hilltop, suggesting that the Romans, while they may not have occupied the site, certainly made use of it.

When I reached the remains of the temple my companion wasn’t there, and I felt a vague sense of disappointment. However, I decided to stay and investigate the ruins, something compelling me to walk anti-clockwise around the outer circle, then the inner one, before standing at the centre, where a small depression was in the earth. I had an overwhelming urge to kneel, and did so…

… all became still, the wind that rushed around me ceasing, warmth descending. I felt a hand upon my shoulder and bowed my head, my weapons to one side, my hood pulled back from my hair. It felt like reassurance, that I was in the right place, doing the right thing, and that I was protected…

Then modern-day me took over and I felt a bit silly, kneeling there with head bowed. I silently gave thanks and got to my feet…

… laughter. ‘You are always in such a hurry. You’re leaving too early, but that’s all right. Off you go…’

I paused, unsure for a moment. Then I shook off the feeling and started back towards the ramparts, hoping to meet up with some of the others. However, before I reached them something made me turn… to see the companion I’d hoped to meet walking into the temple.

‘Oh!’ Overjoyed, I made my way back to meet her. ‘I knew I was supposed to meet you here!’ I said, as I drew closer.

‘I’ve been here already,’ she replied. ‘And I left, then something made me come back.’

‘And I left too early,’ I said. ‘I knew I had, and they told me I had, too!’

We laughed about it, and I made a silent vow to trust myself a little more, to listen more.

The rest of the group joined us and we sat for a while, happy to rest. There was some discussion as we considered the history of the place, Sue painting a vivid picture of what things might have been like when it was new…

… I stood, high above the labyrinth, waiting with sword and flame. There was no light other than the moon, which silvered the curves of earth, lined the dark form of the initiate who walked the path blindfolded. The mark on my hip was the same as that borne by the others who waited with me, our hearts in our mouths, for the initiate to pass their final test. I watched him walk between the hills, disappearing then reappearing, each time a breath blown out. The flame in my hand was held low so as not to give him any clue, my sword edge sharp, waiting for his arrival…

And then it was time to go. Rain was threatening, the wind lifting, and everyone had places they needed to be, including me. I finished my circuit, and started through the (already familiar) labyrinth to the pathway that led down to the car park…

… I felt sorrow to be leaving the safety of home and hearth, yet excited to see the world and all that it had to offer beyond the confines of the castle…

It was strange, as though I walked two paths at the same time – one that of a warrior leaving their home and all that was familiar, the other a more prosaic reality, lunch to be eaten and a train to catch. I could still feel the weight of leather and sword, my hair wild from the wind. Even as we sat in a bright café, it wasn’t until food had been consumed that I started to feel anything like myself.

And there was still one more place to go…

This is part four of my account of a weekend in Dorset with The Silent Eye. Please click here for part one, part two and part three.

Circles Beyond Time – Warmth

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img_3626This is the continued account of my weekend away with The Silent Eye. Please click here for part one, part two and part three.

We all gathered around the stone, everyone agreeing that it looked very similar to a sundial. Sue then told us that excavation had shown the stone was deliberately placed and propped at this angle, with one side staying dark throughout the northern Winter, as though to mark the length of the season. We were invited to look at the stone from all angles, to find the ‘devil’s face’ (I think I caught it in the photo below), and also to explore the outer rings of stones, half hidden in the grass, that encircled the clearing. There were at least two rings, if not three, and I headed straight through to the edge, standing in the shade of a silver birch as I marked the low grey shapes curving in both directions.

img_3629Then we regrouped around the central stone, and a meditation took place. It was muggy, the humidity bringing midges out to torment us, but somehow we all managed to focus.

 …as she closed her eyes she could feel the stone as a warm presence, all gentle enfolding heat like a hug, or a warm fire on a cold day. Midges danced along her skin but didn’t bite, as she fought to ignore their tickling touch and focus on the meditation. But it didn’t really matter.

‘All is well. You are welcome here.’

She knew she was supposed to be thinking about the ancestors, or time, or something, but instead all she could focus on was the warmth, the feeling of being greeted. Of being acknowledged. As though after the suffering on the cliff edge the stone wanted, somehow, to offer comfort. Her nausea subsided, and she felt a pull from behind her, as though she had to go towards the large bank of bracken. Something was there…

The meditation ended, we were then given the opportunity to dowse with rods or pendulums. Having never done that before, I thought I’d give it a try, Sue being kind enough to lend me some rods for the purpose. I knew I was supposed to hold them loosely in both hands, and to focus on what I wanted to find. But I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, other than that Sue and Stuart had mentioned a special stone, and that we were to look for it.

So I stood there, the rods wiggling and crossing in my hands, then uncrossing. I really had no idea what I was doing. Everyone else was wandering about looking serious, various rods and pendulums in their hands. But I couldn’t really pick up anything. That strange compulsion to head towards the bank of bracken was still there, though, so I thought I may as well go that way. I headed off, and was surprised to hear Sue say from behind me ‘Let’s all follow Helen.’ Ha ha, I thought, the rods at this point so useless I just held them both in one hand, sure, everyone follow me. I have no idea what I’m doing. After a few moments Sue came up beside me.

‘There’s something in the bracken,’ I said.

She grinned. ‘There certainly is.’

img_3634As we kept going, a pale grey-white curve appeared up ahead, like the back of a whale breaching the water. We drew closer, and the curve eventually revealed itself as an unusually shaped stone, the pale lichen covering it unlike any we saw elsewhere along the ridge. It wasn’t the specific stone Sue and Stu had wanted us to find, but it was pretty special.

…she could see a child being laid in the dimpled centre of the stone, naked, small limbs curled, their mother bending over to smile at them, reassuring, hands gentle on the tiny form…

Apparently, we were told, archaeology supported the idea that nearby was a place of death rites. It made sense to me that birth would be celebrated here as well, the circle of life completed, just as our modern churches and temples are places to celebrate all the passages of life.

img_3636We left the pale stone behind to go further in, pushing through waist-high bracken until we reached the very special stone. And special it was, carved and set into the ground, the curved markings a mystery. Sue banged on the stone with her staff to reveal its secret. A hollow booming sound took us by surprise. It was fake. A clever fake, crafted to protect the original stone underneath from the depredations of atmosphere, and to allow us to touch the carvings without fear of damaging them. We were invited to discuss the carvings and what we thought they meant. I immediately saw a map. Two enclosures of circular huts, the three ringed circle and smaller sacred space marked nearby. I was a little irreverent then, I confess, stating to one of the companions that perhaps this was a Neolithic ‘buy-off-the-plan’ sign board, and that there had probably once been a display hut nearby for prospective buyers to view. I suppose I needed a bit of levity at that point – still, I did feel quite strongly that the stone was a description of the place, a map of the community. Such things are open to interpretation though, and everyone had their own view on the matter.

Then we were offered a stone of our own, each of us taking our turn to select with eyes closed. Mine was pale, pearlescent white, which fitted quite well with the name I’d been given the previous night. Even though I was the last to choose, it still felt as though I received the stone that was right for me. Interesting how these things work out.

img_3644Now it was time to leave. Lunch was beckoning, we were slightly soaked, and we had other places to visit that afternoon.

But.

My stomach started to roil again at the thought of going back along the cliff edge, but the boggy paths meant there was no other way. Still, I hung back at the gate as the other companions went ahead. Sue had suggested thinking light thoughts as we passed through, in an attempt to soothe the energy of the place. Eventually, I just went for it, thinking ‘sorry, sorry,’ and imagining myself scattering sparks of light as I raced along the shortest path through the stones until I reached a place where the fear subsided, further along the cliff edge. As a group we took a moment to sit, then made our way to the cars parked beyond, stepping back into the real world once more.

At lunch I was quiet. I really couldn’t speak. It wasn’t until I’d eaten my fill that I felt sufficiently energised to join back in with the conversation. That was one of the nicest things about the group, the way we were all given space to experience things as we needed to. I was asked if I was all right, I replied in the affirmative, and that was all that was needed.

To be continued…img_3639

Circles Beyond Time – Release

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This is the continued story of my weekend away with The Silent Eye. For the first instalment, please click here.

img_3545We left The Fox House in a small convoy of cars, heading towards Carl Wark. It’s a Neolithic site, designated a hill fort despite the fact it is like no other hill fort in the area. As we left the cars and started along the trail, we passed between two large stones. Though they were set far back from the path, they nonetheless felt to me as though they marked a gateway of sorts, the beginning of a path.

As we walked the curving path, talking among ourselves, the landscape opened up. To the right the stone was tumbled and jagged, evidence of more recent human activity, blasting into the natural rock for building materials. It felt unnatural, like a scar on the landscape when compared to the sweeping natural beauty to the left of us. Then the path changed, turning down towards a narrow stream that cut the valley in two. A low stone bridge was the only way across. But it was blocked.

img_3581A figure stood there in robes of wool, hair wild, a symbol bound on his brow, his staff held out to bar the way. We stopped. The figure looked like Stuart, and it sounded like Stuart, but there was an echo there of an earlier time. ‘Under the weather indeed,’ we muttered, equally entertained and enthralled by the spectacle. It was well done, as was the next part – each of us taking our turn to cross the narrow bridge and be welcomed into the land.

Ritual can be as simple as a few spoken words or a silent acknowledgement – it does not need to be complicated. And so it was here, words spoken and a welcome given, along with a name – a reminder that she was stepping back in time. As she crossed the water and began to ascend, her mood changed, emotion running high. Her fingers strayed to two rings on her right hand, gifts from her two beloved grandmothers – they were quite valuable, but she had felt bound to wear them. Tears prickled her eyes as she touched the golden circles, reminded of their love.

img_3551We ascended through heather and bracken, the path boggy in parts, large stones seeming to mark the way. I was feeling more and more teary for some reason, and I turned to Sue, who was behind me. ‘This is quite an emotional place, isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘So you’re feeling it too.’

Ah. Yes, I was definitely feeling something. Sorrow, but an old sorrow, as though I were releasing a pain long held. I told Sue, though I don’t know why, that I had brought my grandmothers with me. She responded by telling me that was a good thing, as we were going to be working with the ancestors. Hmmm.

img_3549As we neared the summit, the scale of the stones crowning the hill became apparent. Large blocks and shapes were placed precariously along the edge, including one that stood out and seemed to change as we approached – one moment a fish, then a bird, then a curling shell, it drew the eye from every angle. Finally, we reached the top, and were greeted by an extraordinary Neolithic stone wall. After taking a few photos, we entered the enclosure to find stones placed everywhere, shaped and carved, defining pathways and areas to sit and take in the views. Yet the large stone perched on the cliff edge stood out, and it felt strangely as though it were watching me.

…all at once she could see that the stone was a raven, wings furled, beaked head turned to greet her. She caught a glimpse of blue and cloth of gold, the raven’s eye following her wherever she went.

‘Kneel.’

The command came, and in her mind’s eye she knelt, weeping as two ravens, living feather and bone, flew past, black against the smoky valley below.

img_3561My eyes were full of tears, emotion rolling over me. Stu and Sue came back along the path and I whimpered something incoherent about ravens and grandmothers before wandering further in, gradually regaining my calm. Eventually, we gathered once more as a group, taking shelter from the wind among a cluster of huge boulders to hear more about the history of the place, and to share any poems or readings we felt might be appropriate. There were a few poems read, then one of the group gifted us with a song, his voice rising with the wind across the valley, a lovely serenade to the landscape. When he finished we all applauded, then Sue invited us into a meditation.

…the great stone seemed to rise and fall beneath her, a movement separate from the buffeting wind, from the rhythm of the song. As though she leant against the side of some great beast, breath blowing in and out, a creature of earth and rock. She spiralled back through the years, travelling out across the valley to the high ridges beyond, a silver thread connecting her back to the group at the rocks…

img_3576We were going to stay and watch the sun set, but the wind was growing stronger and the low grey clouds meant there probably wouldn’t have been much to see other than a darkening sky, so the decision was made to head back to The Fox House and see if we could get our reserved table any earlier. We headed back to the stone wall for a group photo, then started back down the slope. As we crossed the bridge over the stream we each paused, taking a moment in our own way to mark the sanctity of the place we’d just visited. I felt quite different than how I had when I ascended, something I had been carrying a long time released.

img_3570When we reached The Fox House, they were happy to accommodate us. Amid the good food and conversation, I mentioned to Sue that I’d written a poem for the weekend. ‘But it didn’t feel the right time to read it,’ I’d said, ‘plus I think there’s another verse.’ There was certainly another line – ‘Sleepers awake! Tell us your dreams.’ It turned round and round in my mind, and I knew it had to be included somehow. I pulled the notebook from my bag and gave it to Sue to read. She did, then passed it on to Stuart. He read it, then nodded at me.

‘We can work with this tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.’

Circles Beyond Time Weekend – Arrival

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img_3567A little over two weeks ago I headed north for a three-day weekend with The Silent Eye, to be spent exploring Neolithic sites and ancient monuments in the Peak District. I travelled alone, meeting most of the group for the first time. And it was… intense. A heady mix of good company, wonderful scenery, and powerful landscapes. I had some interesting experiences – whether they can be ascribed to an over-active imagination, or something else, is unclear. It’s going to take me a few blog posts to write the story of the weekend, and I’ll try to explain things as best I can…

The adventure started early Friday with a train journey into London, then north to Manchester, where I would catch a regional train into the peak district. This was kind of a big deal for me – it had been a long while since I’d had any time away by myself. As I watched the landscape flash past, secure in my comfortable seat, I felt the demands of daily life lift. I was heading north, to stone circles and mystery, and I couldn’t wait.

A quick shot, taken from the train

The flint walls and fruit trees of the south were far behind me as I headed east from Manchester Piccadilly into the misty hills and green valleys of the Peak District. The views from the small two-carriage train were extraordinary, the landscape changing at every turn. Yet many of my fellow passengers sat with newspapers open or on phones, familiarity making them immune to the beauty around them. I couldn’t get enough, the rising slopes and small villages reminiscent of North Wales, my favourite place on earth.

img_3710Upon reaching my destination, the George Hotel in Hathersage, I was delighted to find out that, apart from being a charming and comfortable hotel, The George was also once a favourite haunt of Charlotte Bronte. She visited often while staying at the nearby Hathersage Vicarage, and the village of Hathersage appears in Jane Eyre, the name changed to Morton. The family who owned The George at the time were also called Eyre, and it’s said this is where the name came from. This seemed to bode well. While looking forward to exploring during the weekend, I also had brought a rough draft of a Gothic short story with me, hoping to complete it in time to submit to a competition that coming week. Surely staying in the same place that had once hosted a Bronte sister would be great for inspiration.

img_3539After checking in, I wandered down to the lobby. I had a couple of hours to spare, so, being starving, I ordered a late lunch. While waiting for my food I noticed a library set into an angle of the building and went to take a closer look. I love libraries and this one, although tiny, was perfectly formed. So I took a few photos, then sat down to enjoy my meal. Once finished, I headed back to my room, packed my backpack and donned hiking boots and a waterproof jacket. It was almost time. Two of the companions were coming to collect me – we were to meet the others at the Fox House, then head to Carl Wark, the first of several sites we were to explore that weekend.

img_3543

The companions arrived, prompt to the minute, and there were hugs all around before we got in the car and headed up into the hills. As the landscape fell away the views became more spectacular, and I couldn’t wait to explore, deeper and further into the green. Upon reaching the Fox House, a sprawling old pub built of local grey stone, I met the rest of the companions – once again there were hugs, and I immediately felt welcomed as part of the group. Sue was there, and it was lovely to see her again, but Stuart was missing – apparently under the weather. Or so it seemed…

To be continued.