Tag Archives: Avebury

Hackpen Hill…

Ancient Sites, art, Books, Don and Wen, Stuart France and Sue Vincent, The Silent Eye, , , , , , , ,

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Even our ‘elusive barrow’ was bigger than we expected.

We couldn’t help being reminded of the Fairy Mine.

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And we would have got a lot closer still

but for the seven-foot-tall stinging nettles.

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“We were pressed for time the last time we visited Hackpen Hill.”

“Ilkley wasn’t it by way of Marlborough to pick up the staves?”

“Staffs not staves.”

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“That’s the ‘fella’.”

“The fellow with half a face?”

“Sounds like the title of something.”

“It doubtless is.”

“Or should be.”

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“Strange, how patterns in the landscape,

figures of speech,

modes of mind,

attract some people…”

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“Yet not others.”

 

 

Fringe Benefits…

Ancient Sites, Books, Don and Wen, Stuart France and Sue Vincent, The Silent Eye, , , , , , , , ,

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Another one of those ‘green-worm-holes’ presented itself.

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And we were hardly likely to refuse.

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A decision with consequences which we both found quite pleasing.

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A couple of small stones caught our attention.

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But upon closer inspection they turned out to be rather large stones.

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But then, this was Avebury after all…

 

‘Aye’ of the day’s eye…

Ancient Sites, art, Books, Don and Wen, Stuart France and Sue Vincent, , , , , , , , ,

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Approaching Avebury in this way we got to side-step the crowds.

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Most of whom had been unceremoniously penned into the Red Lion.

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But it is not about meticulous planning.

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It is about listening.

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And following ‘directives’…

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A Voice Called Can’t…

Ancient Sites, art, Books, Don and Wen, Stuart France and Sue Vincent, The Silent Eye, , , , , ,

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It had already been a long, sticky, drive…

We had finished up our ‘rekkie’ just after One Bell when Wen finally pointed the aerodynamic nose of the Green Goddess towards Avebury…

The heat in the day showed no signs of abating as we entered the Giant Circle of Stone…

A liquid dinner seemed like the order of the day before the inevitable call of the stones sucked us into the green…

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Thus it was that on the road from Bicester, the final stretch of our already over long stretch, the hunger pangs began to approach unbearable.

“Are we aware of any acceptable eateries en route?”

“There is always the White Horse Inn?”

Which, bound as it was to add another couple of hours on the journey, sounded like a stretch too far but then, breakfast did now feel like something of an ancient history.

“We can’t can we?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if we couldn’t.”

“The White Horse Inn, it is, then.”

It proved a master stroke.

Two unusually fine pizzas and a pint-and-a-half of cider later and we were heading up to the Dragon to catch the last rays of the day’s Sun…

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to be continued…

 

Save-bury…

Ancient Sites, Fairy Tale, photography, Stuart France and Sue Vincent, The Silent Eye, , , , ,

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“So here’s to you, Mr Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you can know…”

“You have no idea just how many times I have heard that.”

“Sorry, still, at least we now have your attention.”

“And having got my attention?”

“Ah, you are everything we hoped you would be, but are you more?”

“There’s only one way to find out…”

“Rumour has it, that there are stones bigger than those now visible on the surface, still buried at Avebury.”

“Does it, indeed. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do…”

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