Stonehenge, 26 Feb 2018 10:30

The stones of Stonehenge are massive and it's a wonder that more than four and a half thousand years ago some of them were dragged a hundred and eighty miles from the Preseli Hills to this remote site in the south of England. In reality, though, as large as the henge is, it is truly dwarfed by the expansive, empty landscape it inhabits.

For many, the monument is only ever glimpsed through the window of a car passing by on the A303, although the glimpse often becomes a prolonged slow-motion panorama as the traffic, streaming out of London, the exodus to a weekend in the West Country, is funnelled to a standstill in the notorious bottleneck at the end of the dual carriageway, right in front of Stonehenge. So, the traffic crawls past with the occupants rubbernecking the ancient stones, which stand incongruously flanked by an armada of hippy wagons, motorhomes and van conversions; a parochially British “Burning Man” festival of mutant vehicles, a warty blemish on the muted hues of the rolling ancient landscape and a constant eyesore along the ancient Drove, just left of the stones. (1)

At times, these gleaming modern-day sarsons compete for your attention, making it difficult to photograph the stones without a caravan of static white boxes in the background. And the stones themselves, iconic talismans of solitude that echo a time long past, teem with the silhouettes of modern visitors so much so that, during opening hours, it’s almost impossible to achieve one of those classic photos of the ancient stones standing solitary in the immense landscape of Salisbury Plain.

If you would prefer to appreciate Stonehenge at ease in its landscape, it should be approached on foot, as the ancients did, from the Woodhenge direction. It’s just a two-mile walk from Durrington, along lush, buzzing hedgerows, across wide, empty, rolling grassland, past the King Barrows, the Cursus and along the ancient Avenue to the Heel Stone. As you approach, the henge looks so unexpectedly small (2) in the wide open landscape that it is easy to miss. “Is that it?” you might wonder, “Is that really all there is to it?”. Then, as you near the Heel Stone, hordes of visitors crystallise into view just the other side of the wire fence that keeps the non-payers, who have correctly approached the stones along the ancient Avenue, out and keeps the payers, who have, perhaps incorrectly, rocked up in the English Heritage bus, in. Now, you have the impossibility of a decent photo of the stones without a riotous decoration of fluorescent walking jackets and selfie-sticks.

So it was, on a bleak February morning, that I found myself sitting on the Drove in my little blue campervan, a bluestone to the motorhome sarsens, a tiny island of anonymity in a sea of gleaming white boxes and corroded old trucks, musing on the incongruity of my temporary membership of this itinerant hippy community, albeit in a shiny, brand-new and clean blue van with nothing stronger or more pungent than a moka pot espresso to expand my mind. In that moment, a snowstorm blew in on the biting cold wind and in true British tourist fashion, the crowds scuttled away, seeking refuge on the next bus back to the visitor centre, and I had my opportunity for a photo of Stonehenge with its Heel Stone, alone and at ease in their vast landscape, dwarfed by stormy skies.

(1) Wiltshire Council have made great inroads into stopping parking along the Drove. Although it is a byway, they have tried to sto the parking to mitigate the damage caused to track and the verges.
(2) Photo from National Trust