Avebury was teeming with people. On a Tuesday? August 4th was cluttered with spells of cloud, threatened showers and scattered sunshine. Kris, Nix and Kat had set off from Leicestershire that day in search of crop circles and ancient wisdom, and having decided Stonehenge was simply too inaccessible to warrant the trip, they'd settled on Avebury as a first-best alternative. There were bound to be crop circles around somewhere, for Wiltshire had become famous again for sprouting rather a lot of them.
As the car rolled down to the Ridgeway, synchronicities popped up like marbles in the road, spinning in and out of sight as time moved with them. Having navigated the car park, they set off to the waiting stones under a warm wind. People in coloured clothes walked up and down the tracks, children climbed on the ancient relics as if the monument was a playground. How different it would have been once, when children who approached the stones would be filled with awe and reverence, instilled by their parents in deference to powers far greater than their own, and grateful for them. And everyone would be wearing brown.
As the car rolled down to the Ridgeway, synchronicities popped up like marbles in the road, spinning in and out of sight as time moved with them. Having navigated the car park, they set off to the waiting stones under a warm wind. People in coloured clothes walked up and down the tracks, children climbed on the ancient relics as if the monument was a playground. How different it would have been once, when children who approached the stones would be filled with awe and reverence, instilled by their parents in deference to powers far greater than their own, and grateful for them. And everyone would be wearing brown.
There were stones that were soft, stones that were hard, and stones like the Water Stone, carved as a water feature and still host to lichen, which had something to say about their reason for being. The trio walked across the road and sat down at a hedge out of the wind, having walked some of the stone corridor leading to the main circle. Gateways to Nowhere had been features of the day. On the way back to the car, they came upon a tree where others had carved their names into the bark. They stood for a moment, then moved on.
After the Avebury tour they had then to find Pewsey. The campsite nestled beside the River Avon, tucked into a corner known as North Newnton. The car nosed neatly into a spot at the waterside, where after tents had been pitched and food eaten, everyone settled to bed for the night at around 11pm. Half an hour later came the distant sound of gunfire.
After the Avebury tour they had then to find Pewsey. The campsite nestled beside the River Avon, tucked into a corner known as North Newnton. The car nosed neatly into a spot at the waterside, where after tents had been pitched and food eaten, everyone settled to bed for the night at around 11pm. Half an hour later came the distant sound of gunfire.
Durra-durra-durra, went the bursts of bullets from Salisbury Plane. Then the helicopters arrived. Not one, but a score of them, wheeling somewhere just out of sight in the darkness and peppering targets with machine guns. The cavalcade went on for a long time, until one solitary helicopter purred steadily towards them. Kat scrabbled with zips between tent fabric and mosquito lining, unable to open the hatch to watch as blades whirred overhead and a flash of light brushed the tents on the fly-by.
Silence. Then bombs, out in the distance, rounding off the whole bizarre episode like the finale of an unseen firework display. As dawn broke, another drawback of the chosen pitch greeted its campers.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cried one of the nearby residents hidden in an enclosed thicket about ten feet away. Another, less proficient cockerel joined the chorus. So ended a strange night, with a somewhat unwelcome start.
Silence. Then bombs, out in the distance, rounding off the whole bizarre episode like the finale of an unseen firework display. As dawn broke, another drawback of the chosen pitch greeted its campers.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cried one of the nearby residents hidden in an enclosed thicket about ten feet away. Another, less proficient cockerel joined the chorus. So ended a strange night, with a somewhat unwelcome start.
In Marlborough, "Crop Circle Exhibition" seemed pretty inescapable, crop circles being the reason they were there and the one in the picture (at Uffcott) being the one they'd hoped to find. The display packed in facts and accounts which put Doug and Dave's 'plank' story to absolute shame. After taking this in, they went to look for a crop circle of their own. Having drawn a blank at Uffcott, which had mainly been ploughed up, they went off on the cuff to see what might be found around the Kennet Long Barrow and Silbury Hill. And lo, from the top of a hill they saw one, drove all the way up to it on a convenient gravel track, and before long were in the centre of it. Soft raindrops fell lightly down on them, although there were no grey clouds overhead. Later, the crop circle they'd found was found to be absent from internet reports, so could be said to have been there for just a few to find.....
Then they all came home, and will with a bit of luck and a fair wind, live happily ever after.
Then they all came home, and will with a bit of luck and a fair wind, live happily ever after.
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