This story is an account, pure and simple, but it is also a sinking into history, a comment on erosion and survival. I savor this day and reflect upon it. We did what we always do, we turned our day into a mission of discovery.
On a spur of the moment decision, we headed for a place we barley knew – despite a smattering of rain. We drove past a village church with a bumpy field to its sides, and found cherry trees in blossom at Stotfold Church, a little jewel on a council estate. We clicked our cameras through the transparent windows and lounged around in the daisies, amongst our neighbours who were pushing them up.
Onward past a field of miniature ponies, Spon visited the shop. I sat waiting in the car and listened to his music on the stereo.
We stopped at Stofold Mill and I felt its ghosts and heard the mill stream’s music, dreaming away across the fields. And we saw the fair, setting up for the next week end, it’s orange barriers sat lonely in the distant field.
Passing Stotfold cemetery, we were then thwarted by the main road and had to drive towards Langford, taking the roundabout beside the huge water tower. My grandfather told me that he was born in Langford and I remembered his laughing dark brown eyes and quiet smile. We drove past the wealthy homes of rural retreat and up an unmarked track.
From there we walked an ancient way to the site of a fort, surviving now as an earth platform surrounded by a wire fence. Finding our bearings, we looked towards Ashwell church, past little white caravans at the bottom of the field. The skylarks were euphoric, Spon sampled their singing, and we met a man walking his four adorable Labradors, still puppies.
When we explored the banks of the earth work we saw bunnies everywhere. They had burrowed a great network of warrens into the ancient monument – which seemed about to collapse. I sung ‘Run Rabbit Run’ as we walked around the site fence.
In prehistory a family group had built the settlement and we pieced together the geography of the huts among the chalky ruins of their foundations. We tried to circumnavigate but were stopped by fences to old, old fields.
Before we left I found an abandoned house. I explored the overgrown garden and peeked into the neglected kitchen. I wished it was mine.
We went home to dinner; Spon forgot to turn on the oven so it was an hour late. On TV Melvin Bragg interviewed Liza Minnelli, and we listened to the first electric guitar by Les Paul on You Tube and the Andrew Sisters sung about a Bugle Boy of Company B (which I love). And the whole evening ended with Jimi Hendrix on the Lulu show…..
That night I dreamt a story which came from somewhere in that day but now I cannot reach it. And so I think the day itself must be the story because it ended with a feeling of fulfillment and happiness.
As I drifted off to sleep, I became aware that I was surrounded by Labrador puppies. The day had been fixed in time. I had seen two places where my ancestors had lived. Sitting empty, now bare ground where the round houses of the fort used to be, and the church at Stotfold, locked and vacant. Once there was once a wedding at Stotfold Church whose families had passed down generations to make me.
So these places contribute to my identity. Today we live unaware that we are the descendents from the old tribes who lived in these forgotten places and once worshipped the Earth Goddess Sennuna. I am aware of my roots, which makes me feel like the luckiest person alive.
Even though awareness of ones ancestral history does not bring material security, I have gained a sense of purpose, of confidence from this day.
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