Visions from the Stones

4472 years ago – 2472BC the Bronze Age builders of the circle

The new white stones stood starkly on the hilltop, ghostly in the winter morning light.  When I was a little girl, the hill had been covered in trees, but we had all laboured to create a temple to the gods, to plead for their aid.  Even a child could bring food to those who cut down the trees, or dragged the stones  The cold and dark was killing our crops, and Mynwyedig’s visions drove us on.  Now, at the darkest day of the year, everyone was there, standing in respectful awe of Mynwyedig as he interceded with the gods.  And, this year, there was success. 

The first rays of the midwinter sun lanced straight and true along the avenue to strike him, and as his eyes contracted with the brilliant light his knife stabbed down into Cyngharadd’s heart.  We screamed in joy, drowning any cry from her.  Now the land would live again as the gods drove the winter back, slowly at first and then faster until the next battle at midsummer.  Elfyudded’s arms embraced me, and I knew that we would celebrate again tonight, after the feasting.  Maybe now there would be a time for children.

1944 years ago – AD58 The troops of the Emperor Claudius on their way to destroy the power of the druids on Mon and crush British resistance to Roman rule, carry out a small pacification action.

‘Die, defilers!’ I screamed at the solid rank of metal men who walked up the hillside towards us.  They had burnt the village, and were now intent on destroying our priests.  I ran in a berserk fury at them, sword in hand.  The god’s protection was tattooed onto my skin for all to see, and I and my brothers would drive these inhumans away.  The blue patterns, spirals without end, showed how believers would live for ever.

I was so close now that I could see the brown eyes of one of the monsters through his metal helmet.  I called the gods as my sword slashed to remove his head from his body – and then an agonised pain lanced through my guts.  I looked down, and saw his short sword buried up to the hilt in me, and then he twisted it and it came out, as my blood cascaded down, the red covering the blue patterns on my bare skin.  I screamed as I fell to the ground and the monsters feet trampled me into the earth.  My dying sensation was of pain and breathlessness and darkness.  Where were the gods?  A final rush of light and joy took me away.

347 years ago - AD1655 During the Commonwealth, when Britain was ruled by the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell, the superstition of the Furry Dance is removed.

The singing crowd walked up the old track to the stones, carrying the animal skins and wooden staves as we had done so many times before. This time, Preacher Meyers led us, and the song was a prayer, not one of our country ditties. His loud baritone voice made the Lord’s Prayer sound loud and clear across the hillside. I sang as well, fearing to stint in His praise, but hoping that the old ones would forgive my fear.

Finally, we reached the stones, and piled the faggots at their centre. The preacher kindled the fire, and as it caught, we knelt and he led us in prayer for the cleansing of our superstitions. Then he flung the first skins onto it, and the Claughtons and Threlfalls joined him. I looked on, and as the smoke streamed upwards, and then around as it was caught by the wind, I saw it form spiral shapes that drew me to them.