Cantiaci Hillfigures

Hillfigures, a mostly English phenomenon, are indelibly associated with Wessex, thanks to the plethora of White Horses that gallop their way across the hills of Wiltshire. However, the counties of the South-East have their fair share of these historic landmarks, mostly scattered across the chalky swathes of the North and South Downs.

indeed, Kent can proudly display the youngest addition to the list with the construction of a millennial horse at Folkestone. The area cannot boast of anything as old and mysterious as the Uffington Horse, but it can be proud of its Long Man, its hillfigure war memorials and its unique Wye Crown. there are also 'lost' figures, which will receive an honourable mention.

As well as historic journeys, visits to what I term the 'Cantiaci Hillfigures' are visits to some of the loveliest areas of SE England. For the adventurous, I have included directions...

Folkestone Horse

en.m.wikipedia.org

To start with the youngest. Kent, despite having an ivory horse as its county symbol, never had its own equine hillfigure until recently. This strange omission has now been rectified, thanks to an idea first mooted in 1998 as a Millennium project. Designed by the artist Charles Newington, the Horse galloped into trouble from the start.

The hillside upon which it stands is a Site of Special Scientific Interest, so English Nature immediately objected to the idea. Even the EU vetoed its construction. However, the Government firmly stated that no laws were being broken and so, after a few years of legal wrangling, construction finally began in 2003.

The Horse was built by Ghurkas stationed in the area. Trenches were dug, and slabs of chalk and limestone pinned into the trenches to create a durable outline. Building work took about two weeks. The figure is a hundred yards long, and can best be seen from the Tesco car park off the M20 Junction 12.

Lenham Cross

geograph.co.uk

The Cross can be seen from the A20, about nine miles ENE of Maidstone. It was designed as a memorial to forty-two men of Lenham who died during the Great War, and was proposed by Mr C Groom, headmaster of the village school. Completed in 1922, it stands one hundred and eighty-nine feet tall.

The memorial stone placed near the Cross was used for Remembrance Day services until 1960, when several incidents of inclement weather forced the parish to move the stone - and the services - to the comfort of the local church.

Wye Crown

Wyeweb.org

Best seen from the country road heading east from the village of Wye, or - farther back - from the Ashford to Canterbury road. The figure is unique, for there exist no other chalky Crowns in the country. Associated with, and maintained by, the students of Wye College, it was created in 1902 to commemorate the coronation of Edward VII.

Its design was ingeniously simple. The outline of an 1887 florin was traced onto a piece of paper, which was then attached to the lens of a theodolite. The theodolite was aimed at the hill, and workers with flags marked the outline as seen through the lens.

On the night of August 9th 1902, the day of Edward's coronation, the Crown was illuminated by fifteen hundred fairy lights. This has become a tradition, repeated at every subsequent coronation.

Shoreham Cross

bbc.co.uk

'When I went down to Shoreham
some time another year,
I found a cross for sorrow
and pain for men to bear,
for lads I knew aforetime
were sleeping otherwhere.'
- A Kentish Lad, George A Vallins

Like its companion at Lenham, the Shoreham Cross was erected as a war memorial. The land upon which it stands, towering over the village, was donated to the parish on a 999-year lease by the Right Honourable FB Mildmay MP in 1920. It was created by volunteers during the same year, and unveiled on Empire Day. The Cross stands a hundred feet high and overlooks an attractive stretch of the Darent Valley, only a few miles from the historically-important villages of Eynsford and Lullingstone.

Long Man Of Wilmington

sussexpast.co.uk

Other chalky figures exist in Kent, although the status of 'hillfigure' is dubious where they are concerned. A large white propellor decorates a field to commemorate the Battle of Britain,and the outline of a small aeroplane in the woods behind Dover Castle marks the first cross-Channel flight. However, these are set on flat ground rather than slopes and, while visible from the air, do not make very good landmarks for those on terra firma. A lost figure, the Buffs Badge at Canterbury, was carved into the bullet bank at the end of a firing range in 1922. A fifty-five feet high dragon, it was unfortunately allowed to grass over when the Regiment merged with another in 1958.

So we follow the broad, verdant sweep of the South Downs into Sussex, where we find a hillfigure that is not only the undisputed lord of all the Cantiaci figures, but is also one of the most celebrated in England.

The Long Man can best be viewed from the Priory car park at Wilmington. It stands on the north face of Windover Hill, and is surrounded by remnants of the past: a quarry, directly to its right; ancient flint mines pocking the crest above; prehistoric barrows, crowning the peak of the Hill. He stands seventy metres high and his staves are slightly taller.

His age and origins are a mystery, which has doubtless added to his popularity. The first documented mention is in a manuscript of 1779 which shows him with facial features, and carrying farming implements. Various theories have been put forward regarding who he represents, some of them bizarre. They include King Harold, Mercury, Baldur, Thor, Wotan, Beowulf, the Hindu god Varuna (this suggestion came, surprisingly, from the famous archaeologist Flinders Petrie ), Mohammed, St Paul, and Apollo. One particularly attractive theory has him carved by the monks of Wilmington Priory, a chalk pilgrim advertising room and board for the night to weary travellers on the Pilgrims' Way across the South Downs.

No less a respected archaeologist than Barry Cunliffe inspected examples taken from the Man and suggested that Roman materials had been used in his construction. Resistivity tests have proved that, at various points in his history, he did indeed carry rakes, scythes, and even a plumed cap. A figure much resembling him was found on a Saxon coin discovered elsewhere in the Weald.

A legend of warring giants has sprung from his position on the Hill. Apparently, two giants once lived in the area - one on Windover Hill, the other at Firle Beacon. They had a set-to and started throwing rocks at each other. The Windover Giant was struck and now lies on the side of the Hill where he fell...

From the breezy peak of this aptly-named Windover Hill, it is possible - on a clear day - to look south and discern a pale smudge on the Downs a few miles away...

Litlington Horse

geograph.co.uk

A relatively small addition to the canon of equine hillfigures, the Horse is slightly less than twenty-five metres long. He can be viewed from several points along the road heading south from Wilmington, although the best views are available on foot from the South Downs Way.

It is the second Horse on the site. The first stood slightly NW of the present figure. Cut in 1838 to commemorate Victoria's coronation (local legend claiming that it was constructed in a single day), it had overgrown and vanished completely by 1920.

Another legend claims that the figure is a memorial to a girl killed when the horse she was riding threw her after bolting down the hill. The present Horse was cut in 1024 by a Mr John Ade, whose grandfather had helped with the cutting of the original Horse. He was assisted by two friends and, for obscure reasons, cut it by moonlight.

West Clandon Dragon

strangedays.doomby.com

The Dragon, visible from the A246 east of Guildford, was created in 1977 to celebrate the Silver Jubilee of Elizabeth II.  Although it grassed over by 1990, it was recently restored. It is the only hillfigure in Surrey, the county better known for stockbroker belts and theme parks. A White Horse once existed in Surrey, at Hindhead, but it disappeared early in the 20th century.

The Dragon reflects a local legend, recorded as early as 1776. The village of West Clandon was terrorised by a dragon, and the villagers told a passing army deserter that, if he disposed of the beast, they would grant him a pardon. The dragon was subsequently attacked by the soldier's dog, who wore it down so that the triumphant soldier could strike a fatal blow.

Whitehawk Hawk

google.co.uk/maps

And finally...

Located in the Sheepcote Valley on the eastern fringes of Brighton, the Hawk was created in the Summer of 2001 by a group of local artists called SameSky. Its inauguration ceremony saw it lit up like a beacon. Plans to hold annual festivities on the Hawk on the anniversary of its creation include maintenance work to prevent its weathering.

Jack In The Night

His shimmering tendrils creep across the dawn-drenched field,
Ivory fingers probing at the stiffening clay.
He smears the windows with his foliate kisses,
Softens to dew under the warmth of day.
Jack in the night, sheets of shivering silver,
Moonlight glow, show iridescent earth.
Jack in the night, gives me rhyme from rime,
With cutting-edge breeze and crackling turf.
Your touch, Mister Frost, causes petals to crinkle,
Makes mist of breath, makes goosebumps rise.
Your arctic caress means the water will tighten,
As the stars crawl across and the screech owl cries.
Jack in the night, chilling Candlemas guest,
Diaphanous narrator of a Winter's tale.
Jack in the night, fade with mellow sun rising,
Leaving streak-like tears, and a morning so pale.

Forts And Foreshores: The Other Side

My recent explorations of the Hoo Peninsula have led me to visit, among other sites, two abandoned Forts dating from the 1860's. The derelict hulks of Cliffe and Shornemead brood on the Kentish foreshore, stranded on a desolate marshland between pockets of heavy estuarine industry, staring out over a kilometre-wide section of the River Thames.

These Forts were built by the Palmerston government during a period of unsettled relations with the French. Cliffe occupied a virgin site, and Shornemead occupied the site of an earlier polygonal battery. However, in order to provide a triangulation of artillery fire across this 'hook' in the Thames, where river traffic would be obliged to slow down, it was also necessary to build another Palmerston Fort on the opposite shore - at Coalhouse Point in Essex, where previous defences had existed since at least Tudor times.

The earliest known defence at Coalhouse was a Blockhouse built by Henry VIII, who was concerned (quite rightly) about the possibility of an invasion by our escargot-munching friends across the Channel. It was one of several blockhouses in the area, and fell out of use before the end of the century. It was recorded in 1735 as being in a ruinous state, and now it is unsure whether the remains have completely disappeared or sunk into the mud of the foreshore. A ruined jetty, a mass of decayed wooden uprights and cracked concrete slabs, now occupy the site.

The site of the Tudor blockhouse

A battery was constructed at Coalhouse in 1799 at the height of the Napoleonic Wars, corresponding with the same across the river at Shornemead. It was strengthened to become a Fort between 1847-55, but this only saw a few years of service before its replacement by the Palmerston Fort which stands on the site today.

Coalhouse Fort ©CFMBC

Like Cliffe and Shornemead, it was designed by Captain Siborne of the Royal Engineers. Like Cliffe and Shornemead, it suffered serious problems with subsidence during its construction. However, unlike Cliffe and Shornemead, it was situated on the outskirts of a village, East Tilbury, rather than being stranded on an inhospitable saltmarsh. Coalhouse Fort, its last construction stages being supervised by General Gordon who would later become the martyr-hero of the Siege of Khartoum, was finally completed at a cost of £130,000. Unfortunately, due to the speed of the arms race at the time, its original purpose became obsolete rather quickly and it was necessary to support the Fort with the construction of a battery half a mile away, in the village itself.
Of which more later.

Barrack Block

Coalhouse Fort is considerably easier to reach than its Kentish neighbours, and on a showery Monday afternoon I pulled up in its carpark with my Eldest son by my side, ready to explore the historic and natural environment of this noble relic. As the building was closed to the public on this occasion, we satisfied ourselves with a perambulation of its exterior, taking note of various features as we strolled.

Casements. And my thumb.

During the First World War, a minefield was laid in the river. The mines were controlled remotely, which meant that friendly ships could pass safely, but enemy ships were in a whole lot of trouble. A building between the Fort and its moat was the Control Centre for the mining operation.

Mine Control Tower

Between the Fort and the foreshore stands another structure, the Quick Fire Battery. This was created in 1893 - not long after the construction ofbthe Battery in East Tilbury - to counter the threat from a new generation of torpedo boats. The QFB is easily accessible and, naturally, we explored it.

Quick Fire Battery

Coalhouse Fort remained garrisoned until 1946, when it was used by Sea Cadets and other nautical groups until being decommissioned in 1949. After this it went through a variety of uses, such as being used as a store by the nearby Bata shoe factory, a hostel for demobilised soldiers and their families, and even a coal store during a Miners' Strike. It was purchased by Thurrock Council in 1962 but, although they landscaped its environs to create a riverside park, the building itself was left to the mercy of time and vandals. Finally, in 1985, a heritage charity group called the Coalhouse Fort Project took over. They have been renovating the Fort ever since, hold regular Open Days and Events, and carry out routine maintenance. It featured on the BBC programme 'Restoration', which was watched by film director Christopher Nolan, who filmed some of the opening scenes of 'Batman Begins' at the Fort, doubling as a Bhutanese prison. Yes, when you see Christian Bale fighting fellow prisoners, it's not happening in some exotic Asian location, but at East Tilbury. Sorry to spoil the illusion.

The Dark Knight of East Tilbury

Following our exploration of the area immediately around the Fort, we ventured west into the village to look for the East Tilbury Battery. We located it, not far from the High Street, in dense scrub and bramble undergrowth beyond a small playground.

East Tilbury Battery gun emplacement © Essexghosthunters

The earth was soft underfoot and the brambles caught and snagged. Eldest tore his jeans scrambling over a rail but, much of our surroundings concealed by arboreal foliage, we managed to make some sense of what we were looking at. First port of call seemed to be an amenities block, where we tentatively identified barracks, latrines, and possible Mess Hall and kitchen.

Possible Mess Hall, with invasive vulpines

Next, we explored two of the Battery's three magazines, dark forbidding tunnels leading to winch machinery and ammunition store rooms. Our single torch being just about adequate, we lacked the light to take photographs, but others beat us to it - see the Links at the end of this article.

Overgrown magazine

The tunnels were dark, capacious and atmospheric. Stencilled directions to various stores could still be discerned upon the walls, even the shadows of coat hooks in what was presumably a cloakroom.

Entrance to a magazine. Be not of faint heart, should you wish to enter without adequate illumination.

After grappling with the East Tilbury Battery, we return to the village street and dodge a rain shower by popping into 'The Ship' for light refreshment, the establishment describing itself as 'the first, the last, and the cheapest pub in the village'. Following this, we amble back down toward the Fort.

Before reaching it, we pass the village church and I notice something odd about the old building. It has a squat western tower which seemed to have been built of the same material as the barrack block of the Fort. Closer inspection revealed a plaque:

A tower built as a war memorial

The plaque reveals that the Tower, begun in 1917 by the garrison of Coalhouse Fort, was to commemorate comrades lost in the Great War, as well as commemorating General Gordon, by then long dead in the Sudan.

We continue, bypassing thw Fort and heading for the foreshore. Along a track which was once the bed of an abandoned railway, Eldest is delighted to notice a tiny bird bouncing around in the hedgerow.

Female Firecrest ©gryllosblog

We reach the foreshore, which is dominated by a structure adjacent to the site of the Tudor blockhouse. It is a Radar Tower, in use from 1941-43, disguised as a Water Tower to fool passing Luftwaffe aircraft. Although its lower level, where a power plant, accomodation and radar screen used to be is accessible, it would take a brave soul to use the metal steps to the upper level. They look as though they are about to fall off at any minute.

Radar Tower on the foreshore

We set off on the coastal path for a quick stroll along the foreshore. Flocks of waders speckle the mudflats, predominant among them this specimen:

A black-tailed godwit

Soon, we encounter another foreshore feature. It appears to be the remnants of an old jetty.

Later investigation revealed that a series of jetties have occupied this spot since Tudor times, the original servicing the Henrician Blockhouse. The most recent incarnation was used to unload materials and artillery brought down the river by barge from Woolwich Arsenal. It would be unloaded here then taken to the Fort by a now vanished railway line.

A rainbow smears itself across the leaden, broken sky as we turn back to return to the Fort. Although only mid-afternoon, the gloom has created a crepuscular atmosphere, which might explain the unexpected aerial display we encountered on our return stroll. The bird, originally spotted hovering above the foreshore, swooped and swung around us as its large yellow eyes scoured the ground for prey. We stood watching it, entranced, for several minutes, until it shrank into the distance with the Power Station as its backdrop.

Short Eared Owl

The treat was yet to end; in the area between the Fort and the Quick Fire Battery, we were treated to a flying display by a second short eared owl, slightly smaller, which even allowed us to get quite close for a better admiring view as it perched in a gnarled tree.

An unexpected delight, and a wonderful finalé to my explorations of the Forts and Foreshores of the Thames Estuary. One thing I know, however. Now that I'm aware of their existence, their atmosphere and their stark beauty, I don't intend to be a stranger. Come the warmer months, when I fancy a spot of exploration, I'll be back among the lumps and bumps of the Hoo Peninsula like a wraith in the primeval landscape...



Links: Inside the East Tilbury Battery
Forts And Foreshores
Forts And Foreshores: The Return

Forts And Foreshores: The Return

One of the most pervasive memories of my recent visit to the saltmarshes east of Gravesend was that haunting sense of solitude, that aching feeling of loneliness when an explorer realises that he is an aberrant human speck in a landscape of quiet stillness. I walked out there looking for an abandoned Victorian fortress, only - to my pleasant surprise - to find a completely different Victorian fortress, as well as an unexpected shipwreck.

For my return visit, undertaken with a determination to fulfil my original mandate, I took along my daughter who, in recent months, has become something of a veteran at Urban Exploration. Although this particular quest is anything but urban, the fact that crumbling relics of centuries past are the payoff is right up her street.

We park slightly east of the village of Higham, and set off along a footpath heading toward Gravesend. To our right, a scrappy hedgerow separates us from the marshes and, on our left, an abandoned section of the old Thames and Medway Canal, neglected and choked by reeds, follows our route. Presumably this track is part of its old towpath. Despite its dilapidated condition, there is local interest in restoring this
historic waterway.

Thames And Medway Canal Map. Gravesend at the top, Rochester at the bottom, Thames on the right

Presently, we hook a right onto the marshes, following an old military track, passing signs which warn of a nearby firing range - the Milton Range, used by the Metropolitan Police to train their marksmen. This track carves a straight line north, stopping short of the foreshore as it reaches the structure that we have come to visit. The Shornemead Fort.

Two views of the Shornemead casements from the rear, showing the ravages of time and taggers.

This is actually the third structure on the site. A polygonal battery was set up in the late 18th century, at the height of the Napoleonic Wars. This was supplanted in the 1840's by a larger polygon with barracks. As with many heavy structures along this stretch of foreshore, it suffered serious problems with subsidence. Finally, in the 1860's, it was decided to rebuild Shornemead, Coalhouse Fort on the other side of the river and construct the new Cliffe Fort to the east, providing a deadly triangulation of artillery to protect this stretch of the Thames. They were all designed by Captain Siborne of the Royal Engineers, and Shornemead came in at a cost of £211, 063.

View of the eastern Casements, from the foreshore

The fort remained active until the 1950's, although its purpose changed with the times; it was disarmed of its heavy guns at the turn of the 20th Century, due to its on going subsidence problems. For a time, it was used by the Thames Militia Division (Submarine Miners), Royal Engineers as a training centre before being recommissioned with artillery during the First World War. The Second World War saw it being replenished with a battery, pillboxes, searchlights and other structures, traces of which can still be located; the whole area was surrounded by a tangle of barbed wire.

Western casements from the foreshore. Younger vulpine there for scale.

Once peace returned, the Fort became obsolete. Barracks and administration buildings were demolished, although the Casements and the underground magazines survive. However, only the overground remnants are officially accessible.

Shornemead Fort is not as inaccessible as it's neighbour at Cliffe (as demonstrated by the fact that there were other visitors, two teenagers on bicycles), and there are fewer remains to be seen... yet it remains evocative. A stroll around the inside of the Casements reveals hooks and winch machinery still in situ, the rusting remnants of the equipment once used to drag heavy ammunition from the magazine's to the surface. Such equipment can still be seen in good condition under the ramparts of Tilbury Fort, a couple of miles away on the northern bank of the river.

Small rectangular holes in the ground, half-heartedly concealed by rubble masonry, reveal the continued existence of the subterranean tunnels, but ingress is hazardous due to their flooded and decaying condition. However, in the recent past, adventurous souls have succeeded.

Shornemead in relation to Coalhouse and Cliffe Forts

This part of our exploration over, we returned to the car and headed east, driving through Higham and toward Cliffe, passing the impressive gatehouse of Cooling Castle as we did so. This site, once owned by the gentrified Cobham family and abandoned after being severely damaged during the Wyatt Rebellion of 1554, is now a rather agricultural-themed venue that hosts wedding receptions. A villa in the grounds beyond the Gatehouse is the home of a well-known musician.

Cooling Castle

We keep as close to the shore as we can, reaching our next point of interest at a sharp bend in the road just before it reaches the village of Cliffe. The ground is higher here, overlooking the marshes and a hook in the river, and we can see below us a complex of flooded quarries - now an RSPB reserve - and, between the reserve and the foreshore beyond, our next destination... a sprawling complex of scattered buildings, abandoned and forlorn, yet braving the hostile saltmarsh elements as they have since they fell out of use close to a century ago. Occupying an area a mile long and a kilometre wide: the Cliffe Explosive Works.

Cliffe Explosive Works, aerial view, ©NMR

Satellite view of the Cliffe Explosive Works

The factory began as a small works, set up in 1892, by a Scottish company named Hay, Merrick and Co. It was acquired six years later by the Hounslow-based Curtis and Harvey, who vastly expanded the original factory to the size it remains today. It manufactured and stored nitroglycerine, cordite, gelatin explosives and a chlorate-based explosive called Cheddite.

The buildings were spaced far apart to minimise the risk of accidental explosions causing chain reactions; nevertheless, in the twenty-nine years that the Works was operational, sixteen people lost their lives. The worst year was 1904; two explosions, a fortnight apart, killed six workers. It was a dangerous line of work, despite the best precautions of the time.

Cliffe Explosive Works. On the other side of the river, Coryton and Canvey Island in Essex. ©Friedman of KHF

The sharp downturn in the explosives market led to the Cliffe site closing in 1921. Some light demolition took place after the closure, but these buildings - for obvious reasons - were built very sturdy indeed, and as it was simply too troublesome to level them completely, they were simply abandoned to the elements. And here they remain, in a remote pocket of the Hoo Peninsula, steadfastly resisting the ravages of the last ninety-four years. The main threat in recent years came from the suggestion of an airport being built on the marshes, an idea put forward by a floppy-haired London Mayor with a clearly less than cursory knowledge of civil engineering. Unsurprisingly, the idea never got off the ground ( pun intended).

We walked a rather circuitous route to get to the Works, as we had to skirt the flooded quarries of the Nature Reserve. Upon arriving, I observed that the site was as bleak and austere as the other saltmarsh sites, although the presence of many ditches and channels made it somewhat more treacherous. We were not alone, however; there were plenty of cows and sheep wandering the ruins, and a handful of corvids and marsh birds, including a heron.

The site is owned by the Port Of London Authority and managed by tenant farmers, and permission to enter is never given. We decided to ignore the whole 'permission' thing, and just be discreet. Around the breezy and somewhat forbidding site we roamed, trying to make sense of some very alien structures.

Apparently a cordite store

Ninety-four years of abandonment but, unlike the forts at Cliffe and Shornemead, hardly any graffiti. We found some cattle bones scattered over a large area, evidence of the site's isolation from civilisation. If a cow drops here, then it stays here.

Abandoned buildings, purpose unknown

Nope, no idea.

.

Inside one of the buildings, we found a curiosity. A caravan, which showed evidence of brief occupation in 2008. It would have quite a task to drag a caravan across such hostile terrain and then jostle it into a corner of an abandoned shed, and the motive for such an action remains a mystery.

?

Our mission is complete. We have traipsed the North Kent marshland and visited our two isolated sites. We have not worn holes in our shoes, but it certainly feels as though we have worn holes in our feet. Exposure to the autumnal elements has led us to feel tired, hungry and, not surprisingly in such a saline atmosphere, thirsty.

An hour later, with the descent of night, we find ourselves nestled in a snug corner of a pub at the western end of Rochester's charming Dickensian High Street, eagerly awaiting the meals we have ordered, and taking deep draughts of the drinks we have earned. Like Edwin Drood, the relics of the Hoo Peninsula may be mysterious, but they are no longer remote from our experience.


Links:
Shornemead Fort in the 1920's
Cliffe Explosive Works, inc. Inquesr Report on 1904 Explosions
Forts And Foreshores (Part One)
Forts And Foreshores: The Other Side

Samhain In Southwark

Here the veil between the worlds dissolves:
the living, the dead
share the brew, break the bread.
Ancestor souls
converse and commune this Samhain night,
by the light of a bone-white moon. 
  - The Southwark Mysteries


The Prelude

Three people stroll along a footpath that crosses a sunny Suffolk heath. Spring 2015, and the large tracts of heather through which the path carves are alive with rabbits, adders, stonechats and fledgling tits. Insects toil and spin in the busy air; in the near distance, the constant washing rumble of the North Sea provides a gentle background melody.

We notice the anomaly at about the same time. Just off the path, in a space between outcrops of heather, lays a patch of disturbed ground, a small bump, as though someone has lifted the turf, placed an object beneath, and not bothered too much about concealment when replacing the strip of earth.

My eldest and his girlfriend watch with expectation as I step from the path, crouch by the anomaly, and lift the turf. Below lies a small Tupperware box, and I deduce what I have found from previous experience. "It's a geocache."

These are small containers, thousands of which are concealed around the countryside and towns of the UK. They are usually located using GPS devices and reference to certain websites which provide cryptic clues to their location. We've sought out a few in the past, at Rye, on the North Downs, and around Saffron Walden; but this is the first time we have found one accidentally.

I peel off the lid and we inspect the contents. Normally they contain a small notebook or strip of paper accompanied by a pencil, so that the finder can record their name(s) and the date of the discovery. There are also small inconsequential objects, such as beads, paperclips or small denomination coins; the idea is to take an object from the cache and replace it with another.

I drop a coin into the box and lift out a stone which I inspect with interest. A small piece of brown flint, almost lozenge shaped, pitted and scarred, pierced by natural forces with a hole. Almost a miniature of the Men-An-Tol, that curious Bronze Age monument down in the deep west of Cornwall.

Now it's mine. I slip it into my pocket, this tiny tolmen, this igneous token. A pierced pebble, symbol of age and endurance, resonant of the Sacred Feminine, plucked from the humming, breeze-caressed surface of Dunwich Heath, where 'the vipers slide' and 'the slow-worm coils'.

It is with me still.

The History

31st October 2015.

Along a South London backstreet, minutes from the pungent bustle of the Borough Market, I pause and gaze at a large set of iron gates... or, rather, the decor that covers almost every inch of them. Ribbons, cards, photographs, messages;dense and defiant, as though to conceal what rests beyond this barrier. High on the gate, a circular plaque tells the story.

According to parish records, the burial ground now known as Crossbones was acquired by the parish of St Saviour in 1769 as a cemetery for the poor; however, many believe that it was in use before this date, possibly being the location of the 'Single Woman's Graveyard' mentioned by John Stow in his Survey Of London (1598). 'Single Woman' in this instance is a euphemism for 'prostitute', and the recovery of the syphilitic skeleton of a teenage girl during archaeological exploration in the 1990's could support this possibility. Since the reign of Henry II, the Bishop of Winchester licensed the use of 'stews' or brothels along Bankside, and the women who worked in these places became known as the 'Winchester Geese'. Despite profiting from their activities, the Diocese of Winchester rather hypocritically refused to allow these women to be buried in holy ground, which is why they required their own unconsecrated graveyard.

(C) Oonagh Shiel

By the time it closed in 1853, an estimated 15,000 burials had taken place. The Ground has been under threat many times since, beginning in 1883 when Lord Brabazon wrote to The Times complaining that the land had been sold as a building site. The Disused Burial Ground Act, passed by Parliament the following year, rendered the sale null and void, but failed to stop the site subsequently being threatened by a fairground, warehousing, and the Jubilee Line extension.

For almost two decades, local activists have championed and protected Crossbones, none more than local author and poet John Constable, whose work The Southwark Mysteries - inspired by Crossbones and the colourful history of the area -  has been performed at the Globe Theatre and Southwark Cathedral (as St Saviour's is now known).

Until recently a barren, empty space, Crossbones is now being transformed into a community garden, a place of colour and reflection, a riot of symbolism and imagination.

1% of Crossbones has been excavated, yielding 148 skeletons packed tightly together. From this, it has been estimated that the ground contains the remains of 15,000 souls.

The Event

A couple of hours lapse, during which the darkness descends. Bankside continues to bustle, the stalls at Borough Market begin to close down and the Saturday night revellers, many in grisly and colourful Halloween make-up, start to head for the pubs and clubs. I finish an Americano in a Bankside coffee shop and step out into the evening, pausing briefly to admire the shimmering lights of the City as they dance in the swelling waters of the Thames. Then I move away from the river, winding through the sinuous Southwark streets, strolling around the side of Tate Modern's behemoth bulk and making my way to the Table Café.

I am greeted at the door, my name crossed off a list on a clipboard, and am presented with a brace of articles: a cardboard cut-out of a black feather, and a long white ribbon which I fasten around my left wrist with a reef knot. Both articles are inscribed. On one side of the feather is written The Goose & the crow & the wild, wild earth bring you the blessings of... and on the other side a single word.

On the ribbon is written 17 OCTOBER 1730   SUSANNAH, DAUGHTER OF ARTHUR BRAYS, A DYER.  I know virtually nothing about Susannah Brays. She died two hundred and thirtyseven years before I was born. All I know is that she was buried in the Crossbones Burial Ground, and that for the next couple of hours, I will be the guardian of her spirit.

The interior of the Café has been organised like a theatre, rows of low benches facing an altar. A couple of dozen other guests have already arrived, and are either sitting or mingling. I move to the altar, the Altar Of The Ancestors, adorned with Samhain paraphernalia, and reach into my pocket. When my hand emerges it is clutching my token, my small holed stone from the sultry heathland of Suffolk, and I place it carefully on the Altar, where it will remain until I leave the building in a couple of hours time.

I sit on a bench and make small talk with other guests, and eat a ginger sweet that I have been offered. Guests continue to arrive, some in dark Gothic dress, others in graceful swirls of colour. At seven o' clock, the performance begins.

A local troubadour, Nigel Of Bermondsey, serenades the gathering with acoustic guitar and sings in tribute to Crossbones. Following this our shaman for the evening, Mr. John Constable himself, adopts the persona of 'John Crow' and, assisted by the delightful Moksha as the persona of a Winchester Goose, performs poetry from his Southwark Mysteries.

For tonight in Hell they are tolling the bell
for the whore that lay at The Tabard,
and well we know how the carrion crow
doth feast in our Crossbones Graveyard.

With a hey ho, jolly Jack  Crow
and his merry merry band of outlaws-o
never stumble when he trips
mad clown of the Apoca-poca-pocalypse!

They chant of geese and crows, of bells and bones, they evoke a time and place of bustling mystery, they give the outcast dead a voice on these Southwark streets that inspired Chaucer, Shakespeare and Dickens.

At the end of the performance, those of us who have contributed to the Altar Of The Ancestors retrieve our artifacts. The Suffolk Stone returns to my pocket, then we file out to the courtyard behind the venue, a long strip of paving split by a line of trees adorned with mellow lights. Here we are treated to a performance by Wolfshead and Vixen, a Gothic Morris group from Rochester.

(c)Wolfsheadandvixen.com

Our human serpent, a long line of well over a hundred people striding two abreast, now sets off east along Southwark Street. Cars hoot at us, pedestrians stop and watch with curiosity. The air is rich with the noise of the city, the scents of traffic and incense, food scents wafting from Borough Market. Ahead, the colossal, glowing inverted icicle that is The Shard dominates the vista, rising defiantly into the Samhain sky as though the road itself has curled into the heavens ahead of us.

We turn right, into the quiet side-street, Redcross Way, and at its limit - the junction with Union Street, we reach the colour-festooned gate of Crossbones. Here we step forward, unloosing our ribbons and tying them to the railings, quietly chanting the names of our outcast dead and invoking their spirits, "Susannah Brays," I whisper as my ribbon tightens. No gravestone for the dyer's pauper daughter, yet her name now adorns her resting place. "Seventeenth of October, Seventeen Thirty."

Through a side gate, we enter the Burial ground. Paths have been laid out, the space is adorned with tealights, candles, an upright burning log adding the scent of woodsmoke to the miasma of urban aroma. Paths wind through patches of votive offerings, around a rubble pyramid, past walls adorned with community artwork. An altar stands dominated by a statue of Virgin Mary, another altar is dominated by a Green Man.

crossbones.org

In the darkness here are the Mysteries performed, alternated with the drums and accordion and the clack-clack of smacking sticks from Wolfshead and Vixen.

Here lay your hearts, your flowers,
your Book of Hours, your fingers, your thumbs,
your 'Miss you, Mums'.

Here hang your hopes, your dreams,
your Might-Have-Beens,
your locks, your keys,
your Mysteries.

Somewhere in this vicinity, somewhere below my feet, lays my dyer's daughter, my Susannah. I wonder about her. Was she old? Probably not, since she is defined by her relationship to a parent. Unmarried, then. Was she pretty, or scarred by smallpox? Was she vivacious, or careworn from a tough and unforgiving lifestyle? Was she fair or dark? Was she a woman, or was she a child? Were it not for ceremonies like this, at a time when the veil between the worlds of living and dead becomes diaphanous, would she not remain a forgotten, insignificant shadow from the Georgian past?

"Susannah," I whisper, as though my voice could resonate through the veil and be echoed back by a phantom, female response.

Guided by our Crow Priestesses, the entire assembly joins hands for a Tantric Pulse, energy rippling through the crowd, down through our feet and into the ground surcharged with the dead. We sing, the Ballad of Mary Overie, joining in the chorus, "Lady of The Liberty, Goose And Crow!"

And the rituals come to a close. The crowd disperses long before the energy does.

I walk, heading north toward London Bridge, to cross the trembling Thames on the first stage of my journey home. I pass close to where Chaucer's pilgrims set off for Canterbury. I pass close to where the child Dickens cowered in a debtor's prison. I pass close to where Shakespeare first presented Hamlet, Lear and Prospero to the world, close to where the stews simmered, the bear-pits bustled, and the Geese cackled.

I pass... but, like Susannah and her ghostly voice on the breeze, I also remain.



Links:
Friends Of Crossbones
Wolfshead And Vixen

And, blowing my own trumpet:

Samhain In Ytene
Southwark Cathedral