Broken Stones

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Six thousand years ago, Neolithic man started ripping big lumps of rock up and arranging them in a nice circular pattern. Nobody knows why they did this for sure, although I suspect that the reason was much the same as why we are trekking around the country looking at them: they wanted to see something impressive, and they wanted something to do. Perhaps the people of the late stone age left these for us to find as examples of the oldest waste of time known to man, the ‘team building’ weekend, or lifetime, as was probably the case with Stonehenge, which appeared to take around 1,500 years to complete before it was abandoned as a pointless and futile project, much like ‘The Public’ building in West Bromwich, if we are looking for a modern equivalent.



It had been a miserable early January week. Winter had failed to arrive, and while this meant that we largely had been getting away with fairly mild temperatures, we had also seen a winter of rain and high wind. Somehow though, we seemed to have picked the perfect day; the forecast wasn’t great, but the early morning winter sun was shining down on us as Lyndsey and Emily joined me for the straight journey down the M5. We were heading to Wiltshire, home of Avebury, Silbury Hill and, of course, Stonehenge, probably the best preserved monuments from the Stone Age in the British Isles. Having been failed by the sat-nav on many occasions now, we were beginning to wonder if we were heading in the right direction when we drove right into the middle of the stone circle of Avebury. Quite literally, in fact, as the reason that Avebury’s stone circle is so famous is its size; big enough, in fact, to surround an entire village and the main Beckhampton Road slices the circle in two.



There was something tranquil about Avebury. As we parked up on a small patch of mud it was pretty obvious that we were in a place that was surprisingly friendly to tourists. There was a small charge for the car park, but otherwise we were free to walk around at our leisure. There were plenty of people around, walkers, couples, families, even a football team or two having a match just outside of the stones, but there was a quiet about all of them. There is a lot to be said about tourist areas that don’t rely on loud, flashy gimmicks; they don’t attract loud, obnoxious children. Instead, you tend to find those who are genuinely interested, and though we were essentially walking around a big pile of rocks, there was something genuinely interesting to see. The rocks themselves were roughly cut, not the well shaped pillars of Stonehenge, just mainly roughly shaped rocks, maybe 10 feet tall in places, some taller, probably half as much again underground to keep them standing. Many had been chipped away and used to build houses in the middle ages, long after Neolithic man had upped sticks and done a runner, but there was enough there to show that this was a huge job for people who not only had no lifting equipment, but who had barely begun making small tools out of bits of flint.



Once we had covered the whole circle and perused what was the closest the village had to a souvenir shop (though it was more of a new age hippy trinket shop in reality), we had a decision to make: go straight to Stonehenge or grab some food beforehand. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been much of a choice, the stones would have it, but The Red Lion, which appeared to be the only pub in Avebury, looked pretty appealing, and it was lunchtime, after all. There was a wait on the food but it was worth it, and a relaxing hour or two in the friendly atmosphere of a country pub is what Sundays are made for, unless you happen to be a church-goer.



The relaxing pub meal took us well into the afternoon, and being a Sunday, Stonehenge was due to close to the public at 4.00; as usual, time was running short. We had seen Silbury Hill, Europe’s largest man-made hill and another example of a stone-age boredom buster, from Avebury, and must have virtually driven past it on the way to Stonehenge, but had no time to stop and have a wander even if we could, though I think it has been closed off to public drifters since a 19^th century excavation site caused a partial collapse 20 years ago anyway. As we turned off the roundabout that bought us onto the road that must have once been the main route from London to the entire south-west of the country, I could see that it was true what people say; the 4000 year old spiritual home of the druids was surrounded by busy roads. There would be no being one with nature here come the solstice.



I had come to Stonehenge expecting to be disappointed; the roads, the crowds, the fact that it was so hyped were almost certain to make it a bit of a let down. Thankfully, it turned out that my expectations were unfounded; the January Sunday afternoon weather kept the crowds at bay, and while there were still plenty of people here, there was no need to sidle past a bunch of overweight Americans or obnoxious kids to see the stones. It really is hard to imagine how on Earth they dragged the rocks here from Wales, even modern equipment would probably have a few problems with that. Of course, it did take them around 1,500 years to complete, making it a stone age Wembley stadium, impressive in the end, but seriously late and over budget. Presumably the Neolithic’s, like our English football team, didn’t have a great deal of success in whatever they were using it for after it was finished, because they abandoned it not long after.



The little audio guide that took us around the site was pretty useful as well, as tourist audio guides go. I’ve known about Stonehenge for as long as I can remember, but the finer details, such as how the stones had been carefully fitted together by carving out tongue and groove joints, I had never heard before. There really is something about being at a place like this that gives so much more than a book would ever do. Real life inspires and excites, which makes me wonder if the next generation, who appear to have far fewer school trips than I ever had (and I certainly had far fewer than the generation before), will even care about our history. I’m confident that English Heritage will keep looking after it, but it’s not outlandish to think that in 100 years’ time, Stonehenge will be surrounded by ugly, high-rise ‘luxury’ apartments, designed and commissioned by somebody from London who has never left the city in their life. Until then, I’m glad that progress has only dimmed the sight with a road running alongside, and that the surrounding fields and burial grounds are still mostly intact.



By the time we had been around the whole site, dusk was approaching and the tourist shop was all ready to close. We took in the shop and found it, as expected, to be full of mostly tat, the kind of generic souvenirs that you find in every souvenir shop in the world, differing only by the name of the site printed on the front. Not that it mattered, of course. We didn’t come here to buy a pencil.



As we left Stonehenge and headed for home, the moon was doing its best to outdo the sights of the day; the clouds had cleared and the moon was as large as I have ever seen it, hanging low in the sky, only just popping out over the top of Silbury Hill. One of the theories about Stonehenge was that it was used as an observatory, and I was sorely tempted to turn back and see how the moon lined up with the stones. There was no point though; Stonehenge was closed and the closest we would now get would be the great iron railings at the side of the road. The day had been kind, and it was now time to move on, find a pub and enjoy the evening.

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