Adam’s Pilgrimage part 2: White Horse and Dragon Hill, May 3^rd – 5^th

as played via e-mail

Thursday May 3^rd: Adam takes the 8.57 train to Birmingham New Street, arriving 10.55; where he connects with the 11.12 to Bristol Parkway, arriving 12.28; finally he picks up the 13.02 to Swindon, arriving 13.27.

Incredibly, the 2 bus services that serve Uffington run only on Saturdays so Adam has to take a taxi from Swindon.

Your taxi driver knows the area well and takes you to the White Horse Inn, appropriately enough, which is in a village called Woolstone, which has the advantage of being closer to the White Horse. [I've no what the accommodation is like but I can confirm that they do great food :-)]

Friday May 4^th: you wake up and have a good breakfast of porridge, as per Victor's instructions. You pack up your kit, all brand new and as good as you can afford, and set out for the White Horse on a bright, sunny morning, quickly warming as the sun rises in the heavens. The weather reminds you of the April just gone and you look forward to a pleasant fortnight's ramble through Merrie Englonde.

You follow the directions given by your landlord: heading down the lane with the sun on your left, bearing right at the fork. You see the White Horse as you leave the cover of the trees. Then you cross the main road and keep straight on, losing the White Horse behind a hill.

You ignore an empty car park to your left, as instructed, taking the first turn off to the left. This, apparently, is Dragon Hill Road and passes just yards below the White Horse.

The landlord told you that the locals believe the White Horse was actually a dragon (hence all the references to 'Dragon Hill'), whereas all the archaeologists and neo-pagans insist it's a horse: 'Taint what a horse looks like, it's what a horse be!' as the landlord put it, evidently of the horsey camp.

“The White Horse has been positively dated to more than 3000 years ago,” you are informed by a National Trust signboard, “making it the only truly 'prehistoric' chalk figure in Britain.” There's an Iron Age hill fort right next to it but you can sense that the power of the ley line is in the White Horse alone.

It's still really early, about 8.30; you can see a couple of hikers making their way in your direction from the road but for the moment you're alone and you stand with your eyes closed, a light breeze blowing on your face. You have no trouble clearing your mind of extraneous thoughts, which is essential for effective meditation and you feel this is a very auspicious start to your pilgrimage.

Deep breath; time to start! You open your eyes and continue northwest down Dragon Hill Road. You are a little surprised to see some people have already turned up while you had your eyes shut: there's a woman in white up above the chalk figure, the breeze revealingly blows her dress close to her body, which is both neat and curvaceous at the same time. Nice figure; shame about the face.

As you put her behind you, you see a hiker on a peculiar looking hill, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:DragonHill_and_Manger.jpg. It looks almost like a castle mott (I don't know if Adam knows anything about castles but that's what it looks like to me).

The man is studying the horse intently - which is what just about everyone does who comes here; that's the point. Just for a second, you think it odd that you can't quite make out his face; it should be clearly illuminated by the sun off to your right but the breeze makes your eyes water and all you can get is an impression of wild, dark hairiness.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve but the man's gone when you look up, probably having stepped back off the hill. You pass a couple of other hikers shortly after setting off but not the man on the hill.

You set off, passing back over the road, north through Uffington and on to Faringdon via narrow country lanes. The weather remains excellent and you make good time on the A4095 to Clanfield where you lunch on a ploughman's before again taking to the back roads, skirting RAF Brize Norton and passing through the barracks town of Carterton before reaching Burford in the late afternoon.

It's an excellent day and you feel you've made real progress with your meditation. Victor seems pleased as well but he warns you that the weather will be turning cooler tomorrow. For some reason you mention the two figures you saw at the White Horse. Victor, normally quite a talker, goes a little quiet before commenting about how these ancient sites attract the neo-pagans in droves but somehow you sense something underneath; excitement, possibly mingled with disquiet. [Let me know if you intend to quiz Victor on this.]

You tell Victor you intend to take a route slightly east of that agreed so you can take in the Rollright Stones and Meon Hill. Victor reckons they actually both lie east of the Belinus Ley (or at least east of a line drawn from the White Horse to Biddulph on his atlas) but he sees no harm in you visiting them.

Saturday May 5^th: unfortunately you feel stiff and sore from the moment you get up. Porridge again, which is just as well as it's a lot cooler with a lot of low cloud as you hit the A361. Fortunately it stays dry but your legs are so stiff you decide to call a halt at Chipping Norton. The constant nagging aches make meditation difficult and you're a little downbeat when you report to Victor. But he cheers you up and tells you that part of the magic of the pilgrimage lies in overcoming mundane adversity. He's sure you'll feel better after a good meal and a night's sleep.