Doing the prehistoric sights

Thursday I started with a laundry expedition back to the fringes of Swindon.  This time, Swindon met my every need including giving me something useful to do for a little while.  When I first arrived, there was one woman in the place waiting for her clothes to dry and apparently no one at the attendant window.  I needed to buy washing powder and get change for the machines.  When I looked confused, the woman using the dryer told me the attendant was there, but was steaming things in the back.  I was to call for her.  This worked well, securing me a pile of coins and two cups of detergent.  I got my wash going, and the woman finished with the dryer and left.  I now became the keeper of the knowledge of how to get the attendant.  Six or seven people came in while I was doing various phases of my laundry.  Every one did the same “Well isn’t anyone working here?” shtick that I did.  I explained the system, and it worked.  I think it must have been very un-English to be hollering at someone like that, because every one of them looked at me like I was crazy before trying it and finding my advice to be good. 

 

In the fullness of time, I passed the torch on to another woman, hauled all my clean, dry clothing back to the car, and drove to Avebury.

 

Avebury is usually discussed in relation to Stonehenge.  Avebury is substantiallyolder, much bigger, and somewhat less sophisticated.   The medieval to modern village sits in the middle of a huge circle of ditch and bank work with complex patterns of standing stones distributed around the place.  The stones were not carved and fitted together as at Stonehenge, partly because they are a much harder material, but probably mostly as a matter of fashion.  Most of the stones have outrageous shapes and reminded me of the kinds of stones Chinese and Korean scholars like to collect or set up in their gardens, but really big.  Beyond the central henge, there were a number of other major sites around the area, some of them almost certainly market places, some of them clearly burial sites, and one – a large chalk pyramid subsequently covered with turf called Silbury Hill – seems to have had no purpose anyone can discern.  It was a hell of a lot of work to build, so it must have been good for something, but no one modern has ever come up with a use for it.

 

  Many of the stones were knocked over and buried or broken up for building material and to satisfy pagan bashers in the church.  The site was scientifically studied and surveyed several times from the 18th century onward.  In the 1930’s, a fellow who’d made a lot of money selling marmalade mounted a big expedition to study and reconstruct as much of the area as possible.  They stood back up any whole stone they could find and marked the positions of others.  They paid numbers of villagers to move out of areas where interesting pre-historic sites were and built them a new village nearby.  They also raised awareness of the existence of all the prehistoric leavings at Avebury.

 

While I was still looking around the village, I had a call from Sara that she was safe and sound in London and staying with our friends Liz and Tom.  We confirmed plans to meet in Oxford at 1 PM on Sunday (tomorrow right now, and am I ready for it.)

 

I used a number of different paths to put together a rough figure 8 starting in the village, moving out to stop at an area called the Sanctuary, over by way of a village called East Kennet to the West Kennet Long Barrow (purpose built catacombs) on past Silbury Hill back through the village then up to another site called Windmill Hill (hill fort, seasonal home, and marketplace) then back to the village center.  It was beautiful walking under threatening skies all day.  I hadn’t quite intended to do the part of the walk that took me up to Windmill Hill.  I’d been to a few of these hill forts before and not been able to see what the fuss was about.  I finished my first loop and had tea and something called a flapjack – I would ordinarily call it a granola bar - then decided it was just too early to stop walking, so I headed out on the second loop.  I was glad I did.   First, while I was walking up toward Windmill Hill, the storm that had been threatening all day really started to menace.  Huge thunderheads were rolling down from the north pushing a strong wind straight into my face.  The sun was still shining from my left through gaps in the clouds, making for some fairly eerie lighting effects.  I got a very real sense of unearthly powers gathering, and it just did not rain. 

 

I’m not a generally superstitious person but the weather was so clearly ready to rain it felt as though the ancient Britons were holding it off so I could finish visiting their handiwork.  So for all the rest of this wander around the Hill and walk back, you have to imagine a seething sky such as would absolutely convince you a torrent was about to start but without it getting around to raining.

 

The other reason I was glad I’d come was that for a change I could actually see the banks, ditches, and barrows that were meant to be there.  It wasn’t hard to imagine living up there on a day with less frightening weather.

 

I had about two miles to walk back to the village.  I stopped at the museum to ask a few questions, then at the shop to pick up a guide book.  This was trying the ancient Britons a little too high.  Just as I was leaving the shop, it started to barely spit with rain.  It kept that up as I walked back to the car park.  By the time I got the car started and out on the road it was coming down pretty steadily.  It never did pour down as it had looked like it ought to, but it rained for most of my drive. 

 

I went to the town of Farringdon, because I’d seen a poster the other day announcing a production of Arsenic and Old Lace.  This was my first shot at village theater, and I was hoping to give it a shot.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t find out any more details.  Tourist Info was closed and none of the notice boards I saw had anything about it.  While I was looking for the show, I instead found a very nice restaurant called Herb’s.  I had a terrific dinner there and got to chat with the co-owner, hostess, server.  She also dug me up some info on the show, but cautioned me not to expect much and to take a cushion because the seats where they were doing it were hard benches.

 

Dinner at Herb’s completely spoiled my usual commentary on British cuisine.  I have always said before that if you stick to basic pub food you will eat well while if you go to restaurants that are shooting for class and distinction you are likely to be disappointed.  Herb’s was very casual, but everything about it made it clear it was shooting to raise the standards of cooking, and so it did.  If they were operating in DC, they could easily hold pace with Obelisk.  Their menu wasn’t long, but it was so varied, I asked the woman in charge what I ought to have as this would probably be my only try at them.  She pointed out three dishes on the menu she would heartily recommend, but then said there was something they’d just rotated off the menu the week before that she was especially proud of.  She stepped back to the kitchen to ask her husband whether he could scare that up for me and came back with a yes.  It was a very nice steak wrapped in a seasoned pastry surrounded by a variety of vegetables that actually crunched when bitten.  If you’re ever hungry and anywhere between Oxford and Bristol – Herb’s in Farringdon.  At present they only serve Wednesday to Saturday.  Try it.

 

Take a little time to walk around the buildings of Farringdon, too.  The poem about the pie full of blackbirds was written there, and bits of it are illustrated whimsically on some of the building facades.  Good fun.

 

In the end, I have found something better to do each evening, including writing this tonight, so I did not subject myself to the play. 

 

After an extravagant dinner, I finished the last few pages of Wuthering Heights in the lounge of the restaurant then drove myself back to the farm for the night.

 

Garmin Facts:  13.1 miles in 4:30 walking for a walking average of 2.9 miles per hour.  262 meters climbed.