Ridgeway 2010 – The walk, the hawk and the chalk

Saturday 28th August, 2010 – Ridgeway, Oxfordshire.

I was lucky enough to get to walk for a day along The Ridgeway – a trackway that follows the prominent chalk ridge running through Oxfordshire and into Wiltshire. It is famous as an ancient trackway and pilgrimage route across England, and its modern version stretches from Ivinghoe Beacon in Oxfordshire to Overton Hill near Avebury in Wiltshire (see official site). The Ridgeway passes some of the most interesting ancient sites that I have encountered, including the Chalk Horse at Uffington, Wayland’s Smithy burial mound, and in its later stages it passes close to Avebury stone circle. On many parts of the trail you are following the Great Dragon Line (a.k.a. The Mary and Michael Line) – the long ley line running from Norfolk to Cornwall.

During the walk I was in company, and so didn’t perform many of the deep meditations that I have now come to associate with being at these sites. However, I was able to “say hello” to the places, and to get some recognition from them about my presence there, which was intensely satisfying. Here, I will share some of those moments with you, but primarily this is going to be a visual catalogue of some Ridgeway sights, and an opportunity for me to try to set the record straight on some naming conventions.

Segsbury Camp

I only stopped briefly to photograph the ‘camp’. It is designated and described as a hillfort, which it may well have been. It’s not a particularly good place, I feel, to build such a military structure, but then I didn’t build it, so I don’t know the circumstances. However, I am becoming more inclined to the idea that such enclosures may have served another purpose, and that was to either keep out or funnel in earth energy. The ditches would prevent the ingress of earth energy flows, except for the four entrances that the enclosure had. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of archaeological evidence for battle, that’s for sure. Here’s the Wikipedia entry about it:-

“The fort has extensive ditch and ramparts and has four ‘gateways’. Excavation at the site by Dr Phene, in 1871, discovered a cist grave on the south side of the hill fort rampart. The grave was floored with stone slabs and the sides were walled with flint. Finds included a shield boss and fragments of an urn or drinking cup. Among other finds were human bones and flint scrapers.” (source: Wikipedia)

The “walled with flint” bit is interesting. I wonder if that conducted or repelled the subtle energies around? Next time I visit I will try to dowse it for the energy flows and that may reveal more about it, whether any energy comes in, goes out, flows through or under the site.

The Devil’s Punchbowl

A funny name to describe a large dip in the landscape. When we passed it I was hoping for something more distinct, a megalithic site perhaps, something I could get to grips with. This was too large to dowse, but nevertheless we all stopped to admire it and have a rest looking down the vale.

From this point onwards int he walk I frequently encountered a hawk circling around, calling occasionally. It seems to happen whenever I tuned into the landscape and various places. Of course, it was entirely coincidental and had no meaning whatsoever. One can read too much into these things, you know, I mean it’s not like it’s every happened before, right? Onwards, to Uffington…..

Uffington white dragon

Uffington Castle

Sheep were loose on the top of Uffington Hill, much to the delight of some city kids that seemed fascinated by them. Living close to Wales I had seen enough sheep to last several shepherds’ lifetimes so we went directly to the edge of the chalk figure and looked out over the Oxfordshire scenery. The girls got scared by the sheer drop of the hill and asked to move away in search of a more ‘suitable’ lunch site. This was a cue for me to get my dowsing rods out to find the most suitable place – a place that was out of the super-strong winds that tore across the hilltop that day, and which would also have the additional benefit of being a place of recuperation. Was there such a place, I asked the rods? They led me along the edge of the Uffington Castle embankment and then down one of its sides to a spot where the grass was clear of nettles and out of the wind. There the rods circled in the familiar spiral shape and we dumped our bags there and settled down to a hearty and well-deserved lunch.

I lit three incense sticks with the idea that it would keep the flies away. They didn’t. Nevertheless the ambient odour of incense was lovely and added to the genial ambience. We amused ourselves watching some families fight with kites and dogs racing around after them too. The families looked wind-torn, but we were in some kind of unusual lull zone where the wind seemed to lift over our heads leaving us with only a slight cooling breeze, which was refreshing. This certainly was a good spot to settle!

Knighton Hill

After lunch we made our way along the well-trodden flint roads that linked back to the main Ridgeway trail. Now I was on familiar ground, having visited this area last year a couple of times. I knew we were passing Knighton Hill fields again, and it brought back memories of the crop circle I had envisaged being there, and which then turned out to be there a week later. I paused to remember this unusual event in my life, and noticed the most beautiful wild-flower lined path alongside the fields on that hill. Here the path seemed the perfect habitat for cornflowers, poppies and clumps of wild flowers whose names I have not yet learned, but whose beauty was undeniable.

Wayland’s Smithy

Just beyond Knighton Hill we found the sign to Wayland’s Smithy. I led the ladies into the shady enclosure wherein I knew that a wonderful treasure carved in stone awaited us.  They paused to read the information sign, and I decided to read it again too. It recounted the only factual information it could muster – the archaeological perspective. Of course it did. We are a society that deal with ‘hard evidence’, despite the fact that hard evidence still need a soft interpretation to render its context and meaning. I ushered the ladies onwards – never mind the remains – here’s the wondrous site itself….

WARNING – MINOR RANT ahead – some younger readers may be exposed to splenic vitriol.

Now, regular readers of this blog will know that I am about to correct the names of two of the sites mentioned above: “Uffington Chalk Horse” and “Wayland’s Smithy long barrow”. It isn’t a chalk horse at Uffington, it’s a chalk dragon. Secondly, Wayland’s Smithy is not, as described by the information panel, a burial chamber. People have been buried in the extended mound at the back of the main chamber and pots of charred remains have been discovered buried in the main clover-leaf chambers, but that is not the primary purpose at all. There are many things that could be used to describe it:

• a transformation chamber
• an initiation site
• a fertility generator
• an earth energy site
• a ley line node point
• a sacred space

Of course, no archaeological evidence for this will ever be found, so these sites remain labelled “burial sites”. Because, if you throw litter at a pop concert, then archaeologists can justly claim that you were actually at a waste recycling centre, right? I appreciate it’s more complicated than that, but it does get me riled this subject.

The reason I get so annoyed is that designating a place as a burial site has two effects on potential visitors: firstly, they get put off from intruding on someone’s place of burial, and secondly, the magic of the place is stripped away and resolved into a functional grave site. If these places were called “meditation space”, or “mystical chamber”, or “Otherworld entrance” then you can imagine that they would be a great deal more inviting. Instead, their mystery and magical potential is rendered mundane. It’s that cloying need to have something simply explained – ‘we found a bone – it’s a grave‘. Mundane answer from archeological evidence alone. We need a more holistic approach to ever successfully interpret these sites. Rant over.

What we found there were several children playing on the mound, laughing and wondering at the place themselves, uninhibited and joyful, curious and exploratory. It was delightful just to stand and watch them for a few moments as they began entering into worlds of play that only they understood. I moved away behind one of the larger trees and began to feel at home beneath its canopy, to touch its ancient bark. I lit an incense stick at its base, and whispered a few words of greeting, inviting it to remember how I had been here before and when we had spoken at length. All the trees in the entrance grove rippled in remembrance and I gave small bows of respect in return,l offering love and gratitude for their guardianship of the site. I knew that a few of the trees acted as guards to the energetic entrance to Wayland’s Smithy, and that others fed their calming powerful life force energies into the site in order to maintain its energetic state. For that I gave thanks, and we all moved on.

Ashbury’s Crown

Our final leg of the walk was to descend the ridge into the village of Ashbury. Walking down the road I was stopped in my tracks once more by a hawk circling above me, this time within what felt like touching distance. The others stopped because I had, and looked to see what I was watching. Comment was made about how many hawks we had seen that day, and how the others had never seen so many up close before like this. Wasn’t it unusual? For you, perhaps, I thought to myself, but for me this was becoming a regular part of my journey through the sacred parts of these islands. Everywhere I went I was meeting birds of prey, circling, watching, following, swooping, perching, crying with a screech that was now oh-so-familiar to me. I can honestly say that it has taken until this year in my life for me to recognise these birds and their sounds. Now I can pick them out in a cacophony of birdsong and wind.

We ended the day at a fine example of an old English pub  – The Rose and Crown Hotel in Ashbury. They were just getting ready for a huge barbecue evening, so we knew it was going to rain and sure enough, moments after the first fire was lit and the spit was primed the first drops fell, signifying the end to a fantastic journey across the Oxfordshire countryside.

Gwas