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bethnoirLast night, the house was covered in a forest of shadows, as if the building was an illusion and we really lived in the woods. All the tangled branches and trunks made me yearn for the great outdoors, so, when the day dawned cold but sunny, we set out in search of long barrows with a vague idea of direction and a sense of optimism.
I advise people not to drive through Dursley if it can be avoided. It's one of those places with a one way system, occasional signposts and too many roundabouts. Perhaps JK Rowling visited it, I certainly have no warm feelings towards it. More by luck than anything else we went the right way, then, up a frighteningly steep, winding road, at the top was Uley Long Barrow.
Parking in the muddy field, the first thing we noticed was the back bone, hips and one leg of what we think was a goat. I always watch out for guardians and signs leading to sites and try to bear them in mind, this one put me slightly on edge. The last time we visited this barrow, it was a hot sunny day, many butterflies danced over the mound and the crickets song delighted us. Today it was different.
English Heritage had fenced it in previously, now it stands naked and open. As it was intended, perhaps, but I feel protective of it, there is something feminine about barrows, I would clothe her.
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150640621320739.451894.662975738&type=1&l=da7e3a36f0
The chamber was full of fallen leaves and a darkness that swallowed any light. I expected it to be walled off, but the children explored and declared that it went deep. We climbed the mound and after discussion decided to return to the car to get the torches. Passing the remains again, we thought the that the little cloven hoof was quite delicate even though the back was as long as my nine year olds spine.
Reader, I am a coward. I did not want to enter the barrow, I had read horror story about a collapsed mound in the early morning and it seemed foolish to ignore my inner resistance to the idea of crawling in there. I've lain in West Kennet Long Barrow and Belas Knapp happily, it felt like homecoming there, but not this one, not today. My reluctance was shared by the boys, the torchlight was not big enough to illuminate for the blackness.
We went on to Nymphsfield Long Barrow, sadly exposed, the mound removed, looked out across the Bristol Channel to Wales. We met a very friendly puppy there. Then we wound our way home.
A good day, as the sun is setting making the temperature drop, I recall it in tranquility. It makes me remember that a journey can be a wonderful, mysterious thing and the destination might surprise me, even if I've been there before.
I advise people not to drive through Dursley if it can be avoided. It's one of those places with a one way system, occasional signposts and too many roundabouts. Perhaps JK Rowling visited it, I certainly have no warm feelings towards it. More by luck than anything else we went the right way, then, up a frighteningly steep, winding road, at the top was Uley Long Barrow.
Parking in the muddy field, the first thing we noticed was the back bone, hips and one leg of what we think was a goat. I always watch out for guardians and signs leading to sites and try to bear them in mind, this one put me slightly on edge. The last time we visited this barrow, it was a hot sunny day, many butterflies danced over the mound and the crickets song delighted us. Today it was different.
English Heritage had fenced it in previously, now it stands naked and open. As it was intended, perhaps, but I feel protective of it, there is something feminine about barrows, I would clothe her.
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150640621320739.451894.662975738&type=1&l=da7e3a36f0
The chamber was full of fallen leaves and a darkness that swallowed any light. I expected it to be walled off, but the children explored and declared that it went deep. We climbed the mound and after discussion decided to return to the car to get the torches. Passing the remains again, we thought the that the little cloven hoof was quite delicate even though the back was as long as my nine year olds spine.
Reader, I am a coward. I did not want to enter the barrow, I had read horror story about a collapsed mound in the early morning and it seemed foolish to ignore my inner resistance to the idea of crawling in there. I've lain in West Kennet Long Barrow and Belas Knapp happily, it felt like homecoming there, but not this one, not today. My reluctance was shared by the boys, the torchlight was not big enough to illuminate for the blackness.
We went on to Nymphsfield Long Barrow, sadly exposed, the mound removed, looked out across the Bristol Channel to Wales. We met a very friendly puppy there. Then we wound our way home.
A good day, as the sun is setting making the temperature drop, I recall it in tranquility. It makes me remember that a journey can be a wonderful, mysterious thing and the destination might surprise me, even if I've been there before.