Seahenge, a Personal Viewpoint

Earlier this year an ancient, circular wooden structure was revealed in the mud off the beach at Holme-next-the-Sea in Norfolk. Local resident John Lorimer chanced to find a bronze axe head (palstave) prior to this on the same stretch of beach, and later recognised the remains of wooden posts protruding from the mud formed a ring of continuous timbers around a central inverted stump. It is said that for many years local residents have known of the existence of the stump but not of the ring surrounding it. The structure was hugely important and of extreme interest to archaeologists; its discovery receiving not only national but also international publicity.

Following its initial disclosure in the local press I visited the site at Holme with my husband. A considerable number of people were at the scene when we arrived and this stream of visitors and spectators has been constantly ongoing ever since the structure’s discovery was announced. Standing at a distance of about fifty metres, behind a makeshift rope barrier, I beheld a circle of short, irregular-shaped timbers surrounding a much larger central treestump, its base splaying upward and outward, forming a “bowl”. As I stood gazing at this phenomenon for a while, I knew that undoubtedly this was something very unusual and significant; on the other hand I also felt that for it to be declared a sacred, spiritual site should be reserved until such time as an accurate date had been established by archaeologists. Many people came to see the structure including, I heard it said, a group of druids that morning who performed a ritual at the site. During this my first visit I spoke to the custodian of the area concerning my membership of the British Druid Order and The Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids, and was told I could enter the circle if I wished to make devotions. This invitation, although tempting, I declined to accept, feeling that to have done so would have been inappropriate in view of the fact that others present were encouraged to remain behind the barrier. As I have already stated, to me there was not yet sufficient proof of the structure’s age to warrant speculation as to its original function. I was prepared to await results of testing, which eventually proved conclusively that the structure was of the Bronze Age dating to an approximate age of four thousand years. This was both fascinating and most relevant to all concerned with ancient sacred sites both from an archaeological and spiritual angle. The monument began to generate much more interest and became the focus for activities which many found disturbing and inappropriate, but which nevertheless brought attention to the fact that the structure in all probability may have originally been used for ceremonial and ritual purposes and could, therefore, be deemed sacred.

At Holme is situated an established Norfolk Wildlife Trust bird sanctuary. Local and migratory bird visitors to these shores are protected there. It is an important breeding and feeding ground for many bird species and a natural habitat for them. It is a place of beauty and peace, where many go to see and observe the birds in a safe environment. Following the establishment of “Seahenge” as an ancient sacred site, visitors from all walks of life flocked to see it including protesters acting in defence of leaving the timbers to remain where they were despite English Heritage’s plan to remove them to the archaeological centre at Flag Fen for preservation and conservation, possibly to be returned to Holme at some point in the future. This decision was reached after deliberation and meetings with local residents, in order to both preserve the monument and also to safeguard the birds. Opposition to English Heritage was pronounced by their plan was upheld and carried out. A small group of druids came to the site in order to make, it has been reported, noisy and aggravated protest there fore several days, causing disruption to the work in progress. Finally a court injunction against these individuals was obtained by English Heritage which included a “John Doe” clause to exclude members of the public also. Opinion was not in favour of this on the whole but it provided a way forward whereby English Heritage was able to continue with and complete the task facing it. It was not until things quietened down that I returned there. I had found it disturbing to read the newspaper reports and avoided doing so. I had no desire to participate in the activities taking place and instead wished to make my own peaceful devotions without such distractions. I was content to leave the more flamboyant gestures of defiance to others.

I made several further visits to “Seahenge” during the closing stages of its excavation, cultivating a relationship of awareness with the archaeologists and excavators. Following a lengthy chat with Gary Hibberd, warden of the nature reserve at Holme, I walked out to the foreshore with him and was introduced to Maisie Taylor, an archaeologist from Flag Fen. Maisie was in charge of the wood, its preservation and conservation being her special area of expertise. She asked me what my feelings were about the site. I told her I felt the site remained sacred despite the removal of the timbers. The ancestors had recognised it as such, for reasons known only to them, erecting their structure in this spot, and that in my view the sanctity of the place would remain and ensure. She replied that this to her sounded reasonable, common sense, and a bond of trust and mutual respect was forged. I felt then that an understanding of such concepts by the archaeologists might prove useful in enabling them to receive greater insight as to why such sites are so important to us. The timbers, including the central stump, are proved to be oak, which was and is sacred to druids. Therefore it is reasonable to conclude that the original interest in and purpose of the site could have been druidic, this form of spirituality being native to our land in ancient, pre-Christian times as authenticated by the writings of roman historians such as Pliny, and also of Julius Caesar.

I made my third visit to “Seahenge” on Thursday 15th July which was the day prior to actual removal of the central stump although I had been expecting the removal to take place on this day. Instead this was put on hold until the Friday, there being problems concerning health and safety brought to attention by local businessman Mr Mervyn Lambert who spoke to the Health and Safety Executive saying that in his opinion the lifting mechanism which was on site was not adequate in relation to the size and weight of the stump. Mr Lambert had been a prominent opposer to the action of English Heritage in removing the timbers and was delighted to observe his complaint lead to a halt in the proceedings. I felt that, had the site been left intact, it might not have been long before souvenir hunters chipped off bits and pieces, leading to its despoilment and eventual destruction. That such a thing might have occurred in my view undisputable and my feelings are that it is because of this likelihood it is right for the timbers to be removed to a place of safety, despite a great sadness and regret that this should have had to be the case. Like so many others, I would have loved to see it remain, eventually to be covered over by the sea again. But this was not to be. By its very nature the monument was likely to be under threat from those who would abuse it. This was obvious from the outset. I was pleased to meet John Lorimer who showed me a replica of the palstave he had found. It was fascinating. The original is in safekeeping, rightfully. This axe head is of particular interest because it is thought to be Irish. Such items have never been found on this coast before or so it is believed. Therefore it is an important and significant find. My suspicions are that this axe could have been part of the grave goods belonging to the person whose body may have been buried at this place. John told us the site is thought to have been a mortuary, but I wonder if it was originally a “round barrow” in which a chieftain or other high-status individual was laid to rest before being covered over with earth. The body would have been placed upon the bowl of the central stump which was surrounded by the other timbers. Earth would have been piled over the entire structure, thus forming a mound. During the course of time, as the sea encroached inland, the soil would have washed away leaving only the timbers, which would in turn have become eroded until they were of the size they now are. It is all to my way of thinking very subjective, a topic of conjecture upon which we can only theorise. Which is an integral part of its magic and mystery.

Friday 16th July: The day the central stump was removed

Arriving on site at around 2pm I found there to be many spectators there already. The waters of the receding tide were pumped from the area and several archaeologists were busy bailing out. A much heftier crane had been brought in. Cameras, reporters and TV Crews were in evidence and I was greeted by a Channel 4 TV man who euphorically informed me that he had, last evening, filmed the progress of a small oak and feather offering I had left upon the central stump, as the incoming tide lifted it from its position, floating it gently in towards the beach where it rested; it was still there as he spoke and this obviously impressed him to the degree that he seemed, to me, quite emotionally moved. He went on to tell me that this little piece of footage might be utilised and included in a documentary Channel 4 was making about “Seahenge”. I was awestruck to think that those few leaves and feathers had stimulated such depth of feeling. I believe the guy had it right and was not merely using the offering for the purposes of sensationalism. Today I brought another, woven with care during the morning, of oak twigs, feathers, and rosemary. A wreath, to be left in remembrance.

Following this I made my accustomed slow walk around the site, attempting to focus upon peace, calm and most of all harmony among all individuals present. I felt a pervading sense of impending disruption that made me uneasy. I stood quietly in a solitary space away from cameras, or so I thought, but on opening my eyes I observed I was being filmed. I insisted that the photographers should stop, which they did, making apologies to me, which I accepted. A female reporter had the previous day asked to take a photograph of me holding the oak leaves I had brought. I refused her request. This was not a show. I felt preyed upon by media representatives who had a job to do, but managed to maintain my dignity, even when approached by yet another cameraman who asked me to “pose in front of the excavations” so that he could capture this image for the newspaper he represented. He, like the rest, had to accept disappointment as I refused to co-operate. This was not a public performance and I resented the intrusion upon my privacy. I was very concerned for the safety the archaeologists and the engineers, also the crane driver. To me the situation seemed potentially lethal should any disruptions chance to occur, which indeed they later did.

One young man, obviously very upset by the removal of the timbers and the prospect of the extraction of the central stump, was there with his dog. He was most distressed. Many of the other onlookers appeared to have little if any sense of reverence for the site and were just there merely to witness the removal of this central focus. I was saddened by this. A small, elderly lady from Aylsham asked to take my photograph in order that she might remember. I held no objection to this. Her theory was that the central stump had arrived naturally at this place and the ancients had seen it and then erected their structure around it, using it as an altar “for ceremonial purposes”. She maintained it had come to rest there during the great flood of Noah’s time. I said nothing to burst her bubble for in my opinion she was at least a deep-thinking individual with an understanding of the Spirit of Place.

Greeted by Maisie and the others, I felt very “at home”. I felt the spirits were watching and with us. But most of all I felt great trepidation and, almost, fear, yet knew not why.

The time passed incredibly slowly. It seemed like an entire day had been spent waiting for the straps and ropes to be fixed to the centre stump. “Earth below you, Fire within you, Water round you, Air above you” I found myself saying over and over as I fixed my gaze upon this hallowed remnant of what was once such a sacred oak. To me it felt resemblant of the awaiting, in quiet vigil, of the death of a loved-one and I longed for all present to be silent and reverent. Alas, this was not something within their understanding. I felt despair. Tiny crabs scampered at our feet as the mud squelched between toes and out from beneath the soles of sandals or boots. I looked down at one point to see a poor eel writhing in its death throes upon a patch of sun-baked mud, and shouted to a nearby policeman to hand it to me, from his station behind the rope barrier, so that I could return it to the water. This he did, but as I placed it in a nearby pool I knew the creature was past help. The young lad with the dog was quick to point out to me that he felt it to be because of what was happening that the eel died. I took his hand, holding it for a few brief moments, not wishing to take the point up with him as by this time I was deeply centred and focused upon what was about to happen. Prior to this I had made a final walk around the perimeter of the site and when almost back at my station was greeted with “Hello Sister” by a young woman with a companion, both of which had pushchairs and small children. We embraced. Continuing on I heard the two women shout across to the excavators; “What are you doing? Our children want to know what you are doing.” The police were represented by a few officers but in no great number. I was anxious for the safety of the women, their children, the archaeologists and excavators, and remain vigilant.

Straps were fixed to the stump, being placed over some foam-like material to cushion it. All was done extremely carefully and, it seemed to me, devoutly and with respect. They realised that this was no ordinary chunk of wood and treated it accordingly. Everyone concerned was taking great care of it. As they should. All was ready and the crane driver started his engine. People were still talking. As was Mr Lambert, protesting loudly still. I longed for silence as I looked to the heavens and whispered the Druids’ Prayer: “Grant, O Spirit, thy protection… [and in protection, strength; and in strength, understanding; and in understanding, knowledge; and in knowledge, the knowledge of justice; and in the knowledge of justice, the love of it; and in the love of it, the love of all existences; and in the love of all existences, the love of Spirit and all goodness."] ” How appropriate and comforting this prayer proved to be at that moment in time. Four thousand years ago this object had been the focus of the devotion of our ancestors. Now it was our focus, but for such a different reason. I seemed to experience the passing of all time in those few brief moments I stood in the mud with sightseers, reporters, film crew, noisy children and lively dogs. Time became meaningless. I was back in the Bronze Age, wearing a simple roughly spun garment held together by a bronze pin. I carried a bucket. Somewhere a hound was sniffing the air, whilst I stood motionless before this mighty ring of timbers.

Waiting, watching, trembling… and as the hound uttered a baleful howl, the crane moved forward. I returned to the twentieth century and sobbed as the chains tightened and the stump moved slowly from side to side. It had to be done. This was indisputable. How I longed for it to be otherwise as I watched the precious relic waver and loosen from the grip of its muddy grave.

Suddenly a piercing cry of “Leave it, leave it” split the almost silence and one of the two young women I earlier described ran forward into the immediate vicinity of the crane. Police and archaeologists grappled with her and she was brought down with a rugby tackle. I turned away, imploring the spirits to protect all and keep them safe. The woman’s face was pushed in the mud and the young man with the dog shouted “Leave her alone, stop hurting her.” Overpowered, she could do nothing but remain there as the crane did its work. By the time I turned round again the stump was out of the mud. I burst into tears. One of the men restraining the now tearful woman threw down his hard hat in frustration and as he walked away from her. I felt for them both and longed for the restoration of harmony within all present.

There hung the ancient oaken stump suspended by chains in the air. It looked vulnerable, pathetic, and above all alone. So alone. As though deserted and abandoned. I asked the spirits of the place that all who had participated in this work, this deed, in the pursuit of knowledge and also to protect the timbers from despoilment and destruction, should be forgiven if what they had done was wrong. “Forgive them. Forgive us all."

Before the stump had come free from the mud, Mervyn Lambert was heard to utter the words “Break, go on, Break.” (This was reported in “The Independent” newspaper on 17th July). Had the chains indeed broken the stump would have been damaged as a result, or people seriously hurt, killed even. The only way forward, as I saw it, was to remain peaceful and centred. Those undertaking the task needed this in order that the relic remained undamaged. There was no place here for ill-will.

I felt very strongly that the spirits of this place were benevolent but could not understand this. It was a powerful sensation. The woman who had attempted to stop the process had, earlier on, come to me to comment that in her opinion I should have been standing on the other side of the barrier; like her friend she addressed me as “sister”. I told her I wished to be left to make my devotions quietly and calmly where I was. Her reply was “Oh, I thought you were a sister.” I empathised with her. She so wanted to make a difference, her feelings were passionate. The stump continued to swing gently to and fro in the sea breeze. Some gasped in awe. Some smiled. Some did not even cast a second glance but began to make their way from the site, satisfied that they had seen what they had come to see. When the great load hanging from the crane had been removed to a safe distance, the archaeologists began to examine the cavity it had left behind. This took some considerable time and I waited almost an hour until they had finished in order that the offering I carried could be left somewhere close by. Almost everyone had gone by that time. The little lady from Aylsham remained, standing beside me. The sun blazed down and was still very hot although it was late afternoon. I realised I had become burnt by both it and the fresh breeze, but it mattered little. This woman and I exchanged a few words before bidding each other farewell, and I was left alone. Half a dozen archaeologists remained searching and recording, as I watched. I had gazed long and hard at the crane as it moved off westwards along the beach, its precious load hoisted high above the sands appearing almost regal as it went. Attended by a small crowd. I remember thinking; “In procession you, in all probability, came here, and in procession you now leave. In love and with understanding you come to know peace in your new resting place.” And then, it was gone.

One of the men, Jason, came to me and invited me to go look at the hole. “Am I permitted to do this?” I asked incredulously. “Of course” he replied. I shook. Many had been given similar consideration, they had only to ask peaceably and with respect. As I stepped over the barrier, I knew this was going to be one of the most memorable moments of my life. Keeping at a safe distance in what was most definitely a “hard hat area” I looked across into the hole. Not as large as I had expected. My estimating skills leave something to be desired but I would say it was about four or five feet deep by about two square though this is only a rough and very uneducated estimate. Jason asked me if I wished for my offering to be placed in the hole. This was something I had not expected. I handed it to him, for him to place it there, and immediately Maisie came running up, urging imploringly that she wished to do this thing and would “be honoured to do so.” Agreeably and with understanding Jason handed her the wreath, the offering to the ancestors in remembrance of them and in homage to the spirits of this sacred place, which she took with confident hands. I was happy for Maisie to perform this final gesture of respect on behalf, I felt, of all those who hold this place in such mighty esteem and who value and revere it as the sacred place it is. Carefully stepping over the mud, hand in hand with Jason who steadied her, Maisie came to the edge of the hole. Her carefully aimed, gentle throw landed the offering into the cavity, where I beheld it resting at the base. I was overcome with awe. These few, humble gifts of nature had found their way into the place where, for four thousand years or more, a sacred symbol of spirituality of the ancient people of this land had once stood. There had been several events in my life which have left me feeling overcome and full of emotion. This was such a one; a most powerful and moving moment. Unforgettable, inspiring and awesome. Maisie also was, I am sure, overwhelmed by it. There is nothing more to say, or that can be said, about the sheer wonder of this moment.

I did not return to “Seahenge” until Monday 2nd August. The final timbers had been removed on the previous day but I wanted to look at the site once more before it was backfilled. Only a handful of people were there; Maisie and the rest of the team of archaeologists, Graham Johnston from Channel 4 TV, there to complete filming for a documentary which I will mention later, and a small number of onlookers. As I approached the site of what was once the timber circle, an immense feeling of sadness overwhelmed me; the structure had to be dismantled in order for it to be protected, never again to be seen in its natural and original surroundings. The place looked barren. Coming to the rope barrier I glanced down and saw a crab struggling on the rapidly drying mud, desperately seeking water. Picking it up I walked the few metres to the margin of the sea, and threw the crab out as far as I could into the relative safety of the receding waters. As I did so I remembered the eel and could not help wondering if the creature had survived. I watched the crab as it bobbed and tossed in the gentle waves for a few moments before turning to walk back towards Maisie, who stood chatting to Graham. We greeted each other warmly, there being a tangible feeling of accord between the three of us. Maisie told me about the removal of the final timber on the previous day. A thunderstorm raged nearby at the time. Looking out on my garden during the storm I had thought about “Seahenge” and the removal of this last remnant, and could not help wondering if it might be said that the elements were speaking in acknowledgement of the fact. It was a romantic notion but one which I found relevant and powerful as I listened to the distant rumblings and watched as the sky was illuminated by sporadic flashes of lightning.

Sea water was being pumped rapidly from the area as the team prepared to commence working on backfilling the large cavity left by the centre stump. Sandbags were to be placed into the hole in order to make it safe. I was touched to observe that those involved in this were carefully examining the mud in order that crabs and other living creatures would be removed to safety prior to the insertion of the sandbags. Maisie told me that only when all the animals had been removed would the process of backfilling begin. As I watched the proceedings I could see that these people cared for this environment. From the moment the removal of the timbers began they had attempted to do their work with as much reverence and respect as was physically and emotionally possible given the obstacles and the opposition they faced. Theirs was not an easy task and certainly not an enviable one. What must not be overlooked in situations such as this is the fact that these people have to follow their instructions, their orders from the higher authority that employs them. None wanted to see the circle removed. Little mention has been made of this at all, sadly. Speaking as one who has spent many hours, over several visits, at the site I would say that those concerned with the removal and safeguarding of the timbers were seldom unaffected by emotion. The entire area was highly charged with it. Today I sensed there to be an immense feeling of peace, calm, and clarity; of resolution, of conclusion. The trauma was over. Now is the time for healing to take place. As, in the fullness of time, it will.

I did not stay long on this occasion. Upon her request I handed Maisie a small sprig of oak as I bade her farewell, which she wished to place beneath the sandbags. I stood for a few seconds, taking a final look at what was once a revered monument built by proud ancestors, before turning to walk back to the beach. On my way I stopped to talk to a couple of team members at their vehicle, giving them the remainder of the oak spray I had brought and asking them to give each person there a leaf. I recalled my first visit to Stonehenge several years ago, on the occasion of the Summer Solstice, when a young druid in white robes gave me a leaf of oak from a bunch her carried. I have it still, though it is crumbled into dust now. As I left the two men I hoped that they also might keep their leaves as a token of remembrance of what was a memorable and poignant experience, here on a windswept Norfolk beach, which may never be repeated. I continued walking on the sands and never once looked back.

The oak offerings I brought on the recent occasions that I visited “Seahenge” aroused interest, and on the day that the centre stump was removed I was approached by Graham Johnston of Channel 4 TV, who asked if I would talk about the larger wreath I carried on film for the documentary they are making: a “Time Team Special” to be broadcast in the winter. I agreed, explaining that for me the oak leaves symbolised longevity, strength and endurance; that the rosemary was for remembrance, the feathers were for freedom of the spirit. When asked why I wished to make this offering I replied that it was simply a personal token of remembrance for the ancestors, the ancients who lived, worked and died here, and also a gesture of reverence to the spirits of the place. This was, surprisingly I found, a relaxed interview about which I felt calm and reasonably confident. At such times and in such situations as these it can cause feelings of apprehension in one who is unused to speaking to the media. Druidry is a wonderful, meaningful, natural and totally refreshing way of life and I feel it is important for it to be understood as such; it enables our lives to be touched, guided and directed by those wondrous blessings of self-discover, self-awareness, and personal spiritual growth which so many folk seem to spend their lifetimes seeking, in vain, elsewhere. Also a sense of belonging to and with the land we inhabit. A sense of connectedness with the earth, and with the ancestors.

I hope this TV documentary about “Seahenge” will provoke thought along these lines in people who are seeking answers. I feel it is right that it should retain its mystery, for in mystery is found the awe. But we will always know of its existence, and its sudden appearance. We will remember its charisma, its sacredness, the special feelings we experienced whilst we stood gazing at it; its remoteness, in terms of time, from our experience of being. We will remember the people associated with its discovery; archaeologists and conservationists, historians, engineers, local residents and the diversity of opinions, individual characters making protest in ways which, for them, were right and meaningful although perhaps misunderstood by most, reports and journalists, photographers, representatives from various spiritual and religious groups, eccentrics, the emotionally fragile, overseas visitors, and many more. I will remember “Seahenge” as it was when I first beheld it; surprisingly small, but with an aura and atmosphere all its own. Complete, unique, unfamiliar, an enigmatic presence upon a well-trodden beach known hitherto for its bird sanctuary and little else.

Holme will never be the same again, after this. I am glad of the protection for the birds. I am relieved the timbers are in a place of safety. I feel privileged and very, very humble to have been there and would like to believe that the spiritual motivation of like-minded individuals who visited “Seahenge” over the past weeks may have contributed in some way to the restoration of calm and healing to this traumatised, sacred place Most of all I thank Druidry for leading me to the understanding of being at oneness with the land upon which I dwell. I shall view these wild and often storm-tossed beaches with a far greater reverence and respect from this moment in time, believing that somewhere out on foreshores there may live, hidden perhaps forever, more of these sacred remains of the ancient dwellers of this coastline and their spirituality which we consider to be so precious and relevant to our lives today, uncontrollably dominated by technology and the pursuit of wealth by means of the destruction of Mother Earth. I heard it said, by one of the archaeologists, that the ancient people were organised. They managed the land and the Earth’s resources well. They worked according to the rules the layout of the land dictated they should follow. We have yet to learn if the Earth is to be saved from a global environmental catastrophe. Time is not on her side. I hope and pray that Mother Earth may help us to help her, through what she in her wisdom reveals to us. In that wisdom she revealed “Seahenge”. Whatever her purpose in so-doing, may it be that mankind may learn something of value to the Earth from its discovery. I believe it is in the wisdom of the ancients that the key not only to our salvation lies, but also to that of this beautiful and precious planet upon which all life as we have come to understand it exists; the home we call, simply, Earth.