Archaeology, myth and magic

Stonehenge.
Awe-inspiring construction designed to play with sunlight

There are few sights as awe-inspiring in England as the great circle at Stonehenge, mute testimony of a great civilisation four and a half millennia ago.

Stonehenge is part of a wider area full of neolithic remains, including my favourite, the great circle of unshaped, mismatched stones at Avebury stone circle.

It was during a visit to Avebury some years ago that I was told the story that moved me most about Stonehenge, and about its relationship to another site only a coupe of miles away, at Durrington Walls, sometimes called Woodhenge. As the name implies, it was made of wood which has, inevitably, rotted away leaving only the holes in which the great posts once stood.

Archaeologists have found pottery shards and animal bones in the area, suggesting that eating and drinking took place in Woodhenge – feasting, in fact. That, together with the perishable nature of wood, suggests that Woodhenge may have been a place associated with life, an idea that has been strengthened by more recent archaeology which uncovered the remains of a settlement of nearly 1000 houses nearby, quite a size for the time.

Woodhenge,
reconstructed by Sheffield University Archaeologists

An avenue (cleverly named ‘The Avenue’) leads from Woodhenge to Stonehenge. Stone feels permanent, like death or the afterlife. So the passage from Woodhenge to Stonehenge seems akin to the passage from life to death and, indeed, bones have been found buried at Stonehenge, but no trace of feasts.

So there’s a highly attractive idea that on the death of a prominent person, his or her body might be brought to Woodhenge, for a celebration of the life well lubricated with food and drink, after which the body would be transported towards Stonehenge, the place of stone and of death, for burial.

In other words, the mourners would accompany the dead on the first steps of the passage from the world of the living to the world of the dead, symbolised by the avenue between the henge of transitory life and the henge of lasting death.

It’s speculation of course, but we’re a society that loves our fiction, aren’t we, whether we read it or watch it. So why shouldn’t we go for a story as attractive as this one? After all, it’s plausible and consistent with the evidence. I for one find its charm quite enough for me to accept it, at least until anyone comes along with any evidence to disprove it.

However, why am I telling this story now?

Because I listened yesterday to the most recent episode in the excellent BBC radio series Beyond Belief, dedicated to the subject of Stonehenge. It reminded me for the story of the passage from wood to stone, as an allegory of life to death. But what really made me want to write about it was another remark by one of the experts.

Stonehenge, as is widely known, was built to align with the sun at key times of year, the solstices and the equinoxes. Archways of stone were set up so the light would shine through them and onto the altar at just the right moment. Pretty remarkable stuff in a society without maps, timepieces or astronomical equipment. I hear many people speaking of these achievements in hushed tones of awe-filled fervour.

So I was delighted to hear Ronald Hutton, Professor of History at the University of Bristol, say of the construction that it was “very cleverly thought out and rather badly done.” It turns out that the main archway, through which the light of sunset at the winter solstice, they dying light of the dying sun, was supposed to shine, was built in a hopelessly unsatisfactory way: one great stone was found for it, but the other was far too short. It had to be set up in too shallow a hole, but since it had a projecting piece at the bottom, a sort of foot, presumably the builders thought it would hold.

It didn’t. It fell and broke, and down came the horizontal slab at the top. So the key element of Stonehenge, its crowning glory, was destroyed through shoddy construction.

Now that story moves me particularly deeply. It brings those distant ancestors to life, and much closer to our lives today. I can just imagine the contractor talking things over with the high priest.

“Well, it’s not as good as having a proper stone, mind. It’s too short, see, it’ll never hold, not in the long term.”

“But it’ll last a while?”

“Oh, sure, it’ll do that. It’ll see you and me out, I’ll warrant. But – a few generations? Maybe not.”

He holds his hand flat and wobbles it from side to side.

“And what’s the alternative?”

I imagine a sucking noise on the teeth.

“Weeeell... That would mean heading back to West Wales... Finding another stone to match the one you’ve got. Dragging it down here, and you know how long it took for the first one... That’d be adding a few years to the project. And as for the budget! You’d have some explaining to do to the chief...”

The high priest looks aghast.

“OK, do the best you can. Use the short stone. Bury it as deep as possible and prop it up. I’m sure it’ll do.”

Which just goes to show that not a lot has really changed in 4500 years or so.

The longest day

This morning, when I looked out of the window at the muggy grey beyond, it became clear that the only times when there wasn’t a threat of imminent rain was when it was actually raining. That made it hard to believe that this was the day of the Summer solstice. Up here in the northern hemisphere, at least. The height of summer. The longest day. 

And with that rain sheeting down, it seemed to me it might feel extremely long indeed.

The date got me thinking of Stonehenge. Full of mystery, sometimes baleful, always inspiring, it’s an extraordinary place. It was built to align to the seasons and accommodate celebrations of the equinoxes and the solstices. I like to think of the druids out there in December, celebrating the turning point at the depth of winter when the sun turns and the days at last begin to lengthen again; and in June, surrounded by ripening crops, when they would thank the powers that govern the world for the blue skies and the warming suns of summer.

Their latter-day successors were out this morning to celebrate this key point in the calendar. Sadly, this is England. As the photos show, there were more anoraks around than long druidical robes. And they didn’t get to see the sun.

Sunless celebrations

Which makes me wonder whether my long-cherished image of their paleolithic ancestors doesn’t need revising. So I’ve come up with a new narrative which I believe is more plausible.


Picture an irascible stone age lordling summoning his Chief Druid to a conversation that might have gone something like this.

‘So, this Stonehenge thing. The one you’ve been building since my grandfather’s time. Is that it now? It’s finished, is it? Nothing further you’re going to ask me to fund?’

‘No, no, sir. It’s complete as it stands. Nothing more to add.’

‘Just as well. Bloody Sarsen stones. You’ve no idea how much the things cost, do you? And transport from Wales! Never did understand why you couldn’t use local stone. Wiltshire’s made of bloody rock, isn’t it?’

‘The Sarsens are special though, my Lord. And our Stonehenge is the very latest in Europe. We wouldn’t want to use anything but the best for it.’

‘Special, is it? I mean... I don’t want to point out the bleeding obvious... or encourage you to spend any more than you already have... but you do realise you haven’t put a roof on it, don’t you?’

‘Sir, a roof would be completely out of place. No, our Stonehenge is exactly right as it stands. A great monument of man’s gratitude to the spirit world for the clemency of the weather.’

‘Well, that’s not exactly working, is it?’ adds the king, glancing out of the window where rain is continuing to drizzle down the sky. ‘One of the reasons I was wondering about the roof, matter of fact. I mean, celebrating the solstice and all that stuff, you’re going to need umbrellas. And they haven’t even been invented yet.’

‘We shall manage, Lord, we shall manage. And a little rain will not dampen the spirits of your druids, knowing that they are surrounded by Sarsen stone and celebrating in the most powerful stone circle of the known world. Even though there's not that much of the world that we actually do know.’

‘Powerful, is it? Not working is it, though? Weather’s still crap.’

‘Well, sir, it may need a little help.’

‘Help? I knew you’d be asking for money.’

‘No, Lord, no. Money will not be required. A little sacrifice.’

‘Sacrifice? That is money.’

‘No, no, sir. The powers of the earth and air, fire and water, desire only human blood. No payment is required for humans.’

‘Well, that’s true. We seem to have plenty of people.’

‘Indeed, sir. With unfettered immigration, they have been pouring in from the continent.’

‘Yes, yes, I know. You’re always going on about the need to set quotas for immigrants. Well, maybe we can make a start on reducing the numbers through a few sacrifices. Not a bad idea.’

‘And, as you were saying yourself, Lord, some of the young people from the troubled inner villages have been restive. We could surely spare a few of them. They would make a fine sacrifice and also set an example to others.’

‘But will the powers of air and water and all the rest make do with all that? I mean, if we don’t want this riff-raff, why should they like them?’

‘Trust me, sir. They just require human blood. And the victims are all human. Even the foreigners.’

‘And it’ll work? We’ll get some decent weather?’

‘All the authorities agree, sir. A great Sarsen-built circle. Some sacrifices. Wiltshire will be the new Costa Brava.’

‘Well, I hope you’re right. Because if there’s another group we could do without, let me tell you, it’s Druids who don’t deliver. So be warned.’

But as we saw again this morning, it didn’t work. Not that the Chief Druid ended up on the sacrificing slab. He led a coup d’état supported by the faithful against the lack of true belief on the part of the Lordling. Who ended up on the slab himself. 


This led to the establishment of a theocratic regime in which the weather remained as lousy as ever but, with the Druids rooting out and sacrificing anyone who complained about it, everyone quickly realised that it was as good as it could ever be and it was a lot safer to be perfectly happy about it.

Thereby demonstrating the inexhaustible capacity of religion to bring consolation to Man for his painful lot.

The wonder of Stonehenge. And the English summer sky.