Avebury: The largest megalithic stone circle in the world.
Turning the bend reveals more stones. I juggle changing gear, steering the snaking bends and craning to view them. Some are in rows and some seemingly scattered randomly. It’s hard to take it all in. It’s a bittersweet drive, the thrill is electric, and yet the grief of the desecration is present. I slow the car as we enter the town center. The inner standing stones mix with The Red Lion pub, the bright red telephone box, the simple shops, and tightly packed cottages. Doris the Sat Nav (our UK GPS) says bare left and we veer off and leave the center of town behind, in search of our Air BnB.
Driving stick on the left
Road bisecting the Avebury Standing Stones
It’s only been an hour or so since we picked up the car at Heathrow airport. After a 10 hour, overnight flight, with little sleep, I’m exhausted. Not to mention the added stress of driving a stick shift, on the other side of the road. Once in the car, we exit straight into a busy main street. My practice begins as I merge into heavy fast moving traffic, and ride the clutch, afraid I’d bunny hop or stall on my first roundabout. Luckily my physical memory kicks in, and within five minutes I drive onto the M4 motorway (highway) and head to our first stop Avebury.
Walking to the stones
The Air BnB is called Summer Cottage, it’s easy to find, and gorgeous, a cozy converted garage, with all the mod cons. Too hungry to forage for food, we eat the breakfast food of freshly baked bread and local eggs, provided by our host. (I take a gluten ease tablet and hope for the best.)
Our host, a senior man with a thick Somerset accent, says he’s lived in Avebury all his life. He is sweet, and fumbles with his words, chastising himself for forgetting the name of a nearby pub. His directions to walk to the Stones in the Avebury Village are as follows:
– Right passed the green triangle of grass
– Go past the fall dee down thingy on the right
– Over a small bridge through a farmer’s field
– Along a little lane following a creek past a few cottages
– Cross into the cemetery of the village church.
First encounter
Miraculously we find the village with only one detour into a cowshed. It’s a beautiful ten-minute walk. We pass through the cemetery of the church, built from the early destruction of the stones circles. Christians, who wanted to take advantage of the power of the site, no doubt.
We pass through the clunky cattle gate, juxtaposed to ‘the Henge,’ gift store, and now there are no obstacles between us. It’s a delight to see and touch the stones, to walk among them. My palms vibrate, as I trace the surface of a pillar with both hands. I’m a tired and little frustrated, it feels forced, like forcing a conversation with a friend when you’re really too tired to listen. I stop trying to hear a message and instead enjoy the stones. I’m entranced.
The destruction and the reconstruction
Jake, my partner, and travel companion askes why there are thick concrete posts lined up with the standing stones. I’m no expert on Avebury. However, I did my homework before we arrived.
These are the markers that the heir to a marmalade fortune, Alexander Keiller (an archaeologist) erected to represent all the missing stones. When he began his restoration in the 1920s.
In the 1300s the villagers, buried the stones, by digging a grave, toppling them over and covering them with the earth. Before the sacred site was entombed in soil, it was systematically smashed. They used extreme heat and cold, to make the hard rock shatter like glass. The material was then used to build the structures and sidewalks in the village. The unique quality of the stone makes this desecration easy to spot underfoot. It’s heartbreaking.
The drawings
William Stukeley in the 17th century opposed the smashing of the monument. Luckily for us, He visited the site many times and drew postulations of the whole site and images of the disassembly. In his drawings there are hundreds of pillars, and diamond shaped stones creating avenues to the inner circles, encircled by a henge bank of white clay.
William Stukeley at the destruction of the stones
Communing with the stones
We leave the avenue and cross the road into the central area. The stones here are alive with energy. I stand with my back touching the hard rock of a large diamond standing stone. I feel a powerful surge of vitality through my energy centers. More profoundly in my first, right there at the base of my spine, vibrating through the pelvic floor an intense pulse of energy. I feel, see and hear all the names I have had in this lifetime and see them merge into one. The message from the rock is accord.
The henge and The sacred tree
Sacred Tree Avebury Henge
Happy with my message, we take a walk on the top of the henge, which is the large bank that encircles the village. I notice the white chalk beneath my feet, and remember the white horse on the hill we saw as we drove in. This place is full of magic, ley lines cross and energy pulses.
On the East side of the bank is an enormous tree, which is strewn with ribbons and sacred objects. Its roots are a vast tangle above ground, they twist and turn, tied with messages and prayers. People come here to wish, to talk to the sacred.
Bring back our ghost
Inside the center, it’s hard to perceive the overall concept of the large site. We leave the sacred tree and turn into a country lane. In a few steps, a new stone comes into view, a large diamond and a large pillar called the Adam and Eve stones. We continue to meander, meeting stones along the way until the cold becomes too much to bear and we’re losing light.
Center of Avebury circle. Two remaining standing stones in front of The Red Lion Pub
On our travels home I chat with some tipsy locals. I ask them about living in the village and their relationship with the stones. They’ve probably heard it all before and seem unwilling to open up. Except one exuberant woman, in her 60s, swaying and holding on to me as we cross the farmer’s field and dodge cow dung and potholes. I tell her what I do for a living, and she gets close, holding on to me for a moment to steady herself. She begins her story of the ghost of the Red Lion pub. The spirit, she says stomps, and wails around the pub at night, near the well, inside the bar, where she met her demise.
The inebriated local suddenly releases her grip and throws her arms up into the air with a loud cackle she says
“They got someone in to get rid of her.” “an exorcist? ” I suggest
“yes something like that, and they did, they got rid of her, she’s gone!”
Her eyes widen, and her face cracks into a huge smile. “And now they want her back; they want her back….” Laughing and staggering away she catches up with her friends.
The energy of the Avebury stone circle is still vibrant and alive, juxtaposed with the pain of the loss. Go visit when you can.
Resources
Check out the links below: Maria Wheatley is worth a google – she’s a second generation dowser and Avebury expert.