On Saturday, my other half mentioned a Celtic Hillfort near his dorm, and suggested we walk to it. I’ve always liked visiting these places, despite not being interested in their history too much. Being a Druid student, I now have a rough timeline in my head of the movements of the Celts and Druidry in this country and have found myself really intrigued with dates. The Hillfort began life in 1800 BCE and was finally abandoned in 500-600 CE.
‘Near’ turned out to be 3 miles away, with hills and a lot of rain. We got to the top of Maiden Castle [132ft] and began to walk around the top of the 47 acre structure. Placards about the entrances defence interested him, while I looked across the fields surrounding. I felt the rain on my face and the softness of the ground beneath my feet.
We climbed the steep hills and trekked around the sheep blessings. And then we found the temple.
The placard said “Romano-British”, sometimes known as Romano-Celtic and we stood looking at the few small squares made of grass. None of the sacredness seemed to emit, I felt no spirits of this place, steeped in rich history. The rain, sheep and time seemed to have left it empty. We didn’t cross the threshold, walking around this structure. No energy is needed to sense respect.
Yet something in me was moved, to imagine the people in huts over at the Eastern Entrance, walking to the temple of Minerva, a Roman version of the Greek Athena.
Even if no energy can be felt, taking your mind back to that space invokes feeling. Feeling of the place, of the people who lived and died. Of ancestry.