The Hedge Druid

Archive for the ‘Ancient site visit reports’ Category

Kal sits in Dove Holes caves at Dovedale in Derbyshire

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Dove Holes. I had visited Thor’s Cave in Derbyshire at Winter Solstice and that had been impressive. The Dove Holes were equally impressive. My mind was taken back to the episode in the books I had read where the questors met with the spirit they called “Gweveraugh” – a sort of female deity figure that they associated with a tribal leader from England’s history. I wondered if there was any sign of such a presence here in these caves at this moment. Kal and I sat in the caves but I felt no presence there at that time.

Kal began making sounds within the caves so I began to try some sound experiments too. I did some humming of various frequencies that I associate with opening my chakras (after putting up some protection, of course – lessons learned and all that). The procedure felt really good and I was enlivened by the response of my sound in that cave environment. Then Kal called over to me, “Hey – try expanding your aura in the cave” he suggested. We had done this kind of thing before at Park Wood in South Wales so I tried it again. As my aura touched the cave walls I began to get “feedback” – my temples began to pulse and throb like they do just before a thunderstorm.

Kal looked over at me,

“When you expand your aura do your temples throb just like before a thunderstorm?”

Was he reading my mind? I confirmed that they did. How odd! I wonder what all that was about?

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Arbor Low's central 'sacrifice' stone

I discussed my findings with Kal at the pub. I told him my results and asked him where he had dowsed as his location. He pulled out a bit of paper showing a cross and a spiral path that ended at a point slightly south-east of the centre of the cross. He explained that the cross was his ‘current location’ when he had dowsed, and that he had used his room as a map of the country. He then dowsed for a position in the room that represented the nest location for both he and I on Spring Equinox. The place was south-east of his room. When he translated that onto a map guided by a measurement of the distance he ended up at….Arbor Low! It was written on his paper. With all the possible sites in these islands we had both independently map-dowsed for the same location. Well – that was settled then. We would go to Arbor Low, Dove Dale and finally Parwich Hill.

We arrived on a sunny day. Everywhere else in the country was quite warm. Arbor Low was, as expected, windy and rather cool. I should have brought gloves! However, things soon warmed up once we arrived as the following tale about an elemental circle reveals.

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A note about this post

This was a difficult post to write, and not just because it is one of the longest I have ever written. It has also taken the longest time to publish! It is the final post in my Nottinghamshire tales [see also: The Hobgoblin of Creswell Crags and The Beech of Clumber Park] , and was the most unexpected of all of the encounters. I say “unexpected”. Perhaps “unbelievable” is more the word. You will see why soon. Some people I have spoken to about it said that I shouldn’t post this information – that it was “just for me” perhaps. I understand why they said this, and I think it was out of concern for me. I appreciate their concern. Rest assured that within this forum I have nothing to protect any longer – those barriers have been down for a while now!

Nevertheless, when good people offer you warnings it is sensible to pay attention. Therefore I have been pondering how to write this post for more than a week and have decided to relate it just as it happened because my subsequent dowsing corroborated the events of the day. That’s good enough for me. If I am being deceived then everything I do must be a lie. I will leave the decision to your good selves on this one. Undoubtedly there is a psychological explanation that might explain things more fully, but that is for someone else to contribute. Here is the story, in its fullness, and without any euphemistic terminology. It’s long. Prepare yourself!

The Wasted Land

As I made my way from Nottingham towards Sherwood Forest I began to see signs that I was entering the land of lore and legend. The number of references to Robin Hood was startling. Every other pub seemed to be called “The Robin Hood”. Every other sign was pointing to something relating to him. “Robin Hood Concrete”, “The Robin Hood Stables”, “Robin Hood’s Knackers Yard”. I slightly exaggerate, but not by much. The commercial potential of the figure is ‘well utilised” shall we say?

Yet, the landscape did not match my expectations. On either side of the straight roads around Sherwood are just clumps of woodland punctuating gently inclining fields of agricultural land that are devoid of hedges or other living boundaries. It was all a bit….open, and…dull! Where were the vast forests that once covered the whole of this county and beyond it? Were these tiny clumps of scattered trees the only remaining bits? Surely not? The farther I drove the more I realised that they were the only remaining survivors of a once mighty landscape. Now the landscape was denuded, dulled and deadened.

The Robin Hood Inn - the heartland of Sherwood Forest

As I got closer to the legendary forest I felt an increasing sense of unease coupled with a sense of collective guilt. The sadness coming from the land mingled with the sense of loss I felt while driving through these claimed spaces was heart-breaking. I vowed to apologise for the greed and stupidity of my species first thing once I met some spirit of the trees. I knew instinctively that it would not be enough to make any kind of a difference, but it felt like a necessary first step to redemption.

Now I pulled into the car park at the forest. It felt exciting! A boyhood dream was about to be realised…

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In the second tale of my Nottingham adventures I had travelled the short distance from Clumber Park to Creswell Crags. A friend had once recommended Creswell Crags to me several years ago, and had mentioned that it contained some of the earliest cave pictures in the country. This was something that I thought I should go and see – not because I’m interested in ancient people per se, but because I often wonder if they have left us clues of their connection with the subtle energies around them. So it was with this in mind that I went into the quiet visitor’s centre and asked if I could do the big tour.

Snags at the Crags

The cave tours aren’t available in the week, so I could only do the exhibition. A major disappointment! Not only was I hoping to do some dowsing in the caves to see what I could find there, but I was also hoping to do a little meditation in order to re-shape my aura now that I had been balanced by the beech tree at Clumber Park. Seems like I would be resigned to peering in through the iron grilles that were across each cave entrance.

I paid for the exhibition in any case and it turned out to be very interesting. There was an interactive screen which challenged you to find and trace the various rock art shapes that are etched into the roofs of the Church Hole cave. This was great fun and quite a test for the eye. I didn’t always agree with the suggestions for what the figures represented, but then this is always going to be a discussion point as we can’t really know the ancient cultures and their environments except for the archaeological evidence, which is only a fraction of the full picture.

One of the many etched figures found at Creswell Crags

In addition to the descriptions of the rock art there was some information on the previous inhabitants of the cave area. Some sharp teeth on display from the hyenas. Yes, hyenas on the Derbyshire/Nottinghamshire border! Mind you, if you’ve spent a night out in Nottingham….

Hyenas on display at Creswell Crags

Walking out into the fresh air, through the contrived park paths, I was directed by the dowsing rods to walk around in anti-clockwise direction. I could feel the pull of Church Hole opposite. but I did my best to ignore it. I knew I would have to go towards that point eventually, but first I wanted to examine the other caves. I peered through the iron grilles of each cave. Only Robin Hood’s Cave felt interesting. I would have to come back on a weekend some time when it was warmer.

I visited the final cave on the right-hand side but then my attention was pulled strongly up onto the top of the crags opposite. It wasn’t the Church Hole Cave pulling me, then, it was somewhere on top of the crag! I decided to investigate….

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What I most enjoy about the work I do with sentient entities is the way that it is possible to get both immediate feedback, and then sometimes you will get a sign or a little gift later on when the whole episode has been integrated into your being. Such was my double dip reward at The Bridestones this Imbolc. Firstly I had the absolute pleasure of spending it with some good friends – the best I have – and secondly I got a visual reward when I found that Brigid herself had made an appearance on camera.

Signs for Britain’s Sickest Village?

As this was the final site visit of Imbolc we happened to arrive very close to sunset, with just enough time to prepare for the setting sun. Very little of our visits are planned in terms of timing, and this was another occasion when we just happened to have arrived when we needed to. Something was certainly involved in guiding us that day as a whole. We had encountered “signs” related to being stuck, and having barriers in our way as we travelled around the Derbyshire countryside. For example, Mike had mentioned that one particular village – Swythamley – had some terrible energies, and that we should go an experience this for ourselves. Kal was not keen on this at all, but I dutifully followed navigational directions in order to drive through the place out of curiosity. As we got closer to the village we encountered a huge lorry stuck in the middle of the road on a bend. We narrowly missed being squashed as it squeezed past the car. Then there were two near misses with other lorries that also caused us to have to either brake severely and swerve, or stop completely to allow the lorry to pass. Not particularly unusual in Derbyshire, but it was the coincidence of these events happening as we approached Swythamley that made Kal in particular take notice of the signs, and begin to express his dread fear that we might not get out of the village alive!

I noticed the energetic field around the village as we approached the outskirts of the first buildings indicating the village boundary. The place began to feel increasingly dreadful. Awful, horrific energies pushed my sacral chakra point relentlessly making me feel more and more nauseous. I nearly vomited as we reached the centre where people had parked their cars to go walking in the nearby hills. “Why would they park here!” I opined, disbelieving that we were the only ones that could feel this awful throbbing darkness. As we left the village, to the relief of everyone, particularly me, I noticed that the village lay at the end of two long straight rods that were channelling energies into the basin of Swythamley village itself. A warning: if you’re energetically aware, please don’t ever go there! Not even out of curiosity. For the next five minutes I spent my time energetically cleansing myself with silver and gold light visualisations.

The fading light of Imbolc at The Bridestones

As we arrived at The Bridestones a lorry tried to turn into the tiny lane leading to the quarry next tot he site. We sat for five minutes in the road watching in disbelief as the strange stuck lorry syndrome was repeated. Please, I begged, don’t let this be another sign that the energies are terrible. Not after all the work that Mike and I had done to try to repair the energetic framework of the site. We entered the site after the lorry abandoned its fruitless task and as we walked through the gate and the yew bower everyone agreed that the site felt much much better than they had ever expected. Phew! Things were looking good.

Diversions aside, we began our preparation for the Imbolc sunset.

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The second part of our Imbolc adventure this year took us deep into the borderlands between Staffordshire and Derbyshire. We were back at Lud’s Church near to the village of Gradbach (the village that SatNav forgot). Actually, it was pointed out to me by Mike that the correct pronunciation of the feature is Ludchurch. I began to use the terms interchangeably from then on, unable to decide which was more appropriate or authentic. I had only noticed this phrasing myself the day before when I re-discovered the Ludchurch blog – a site packed with tales of the local sites in the area around Ludchurch.

Dreaming of a Black Brook

Unbeknownst to my companions, Kal and Mike, I had had a dream the night before about the Black Brook. In my dream the brook was a slow-running stream of foreboding and doom, like a dark treacle of badness cutting off my approach to the sacred ravine beyond. As we began to descend into the vale through which the stream passed on that crisp and cold Winter morning fleeting glimpses and their accompanying pangs of foreboding flickered at the back of my brain only to be overwhelmed by my joy at being out and about on this week day in the clear cool sunlight. We passed the steep path down to the bridge over the brook and for a moment I hesitated. Should we take this path? Something said “Yes, take it!” but it was swamped by a rational sweep of dismissal. “Whatever for?” said my rational self.

We continued on the main path and soon we reached the Black Brook. We could immediately see that it was too full for us to pass. The melting ice and recent rains must have swelled its flow and the stepping stones across the brook were too far apart and too small a target for us to sensibly try to cross. We admitted defeat and had to make our way around to the small wooden bridge nearby in order to cross. The path through the wooded glad was a sheer delight as the sun dappled the light, dropping pools of sun onto the emerging snowdrops and thawing green blades of grass. It was a sheer delight, and it made me glad we had chosen the sensible option. Now we were crossing the bridge and soon onto the other side, safe and dry.

Passing The Guardian

Kal was beside himself as he skipped up to the guardian beech trees – two trees that form a sort of portal through which one should pass with permission in order to achieve the most magical results when visiting Ludchurch. Kal was bouncing around pointing at the Sun as it dripped its honey through the maze of branches to offer us its flickering rays and hypnotize me into the perfect Natural trance, as always. In this state of mind it was easy to commune with the tree, and Kal and I did so readily. We passed through the gateway beech trees – paying our respects to the mighty guardian of the site.

Mike was more hesitant, not sure how to approach the situation. I understood, so as he began to “feel” the tree’s aura in order to gather information. I began the process of introducing him to the tree telepathically through an emotional interchange. Mike turned to face me and said that he felt as though he couldn’t enter just yet, then he turned back to the tree. The tree responded to my request with a warm feeling that flooded my soul and I knew this was a sign of acceptance. A sort of “if he’s with you then that’s OK” message came with it. I smiled and waited for Mike to open his eyes and respond to the change of feeling from the tree.  Mike opened his eyes again and turned to face me once more with a puzzled look on his face – he said that now he felt like the tree was allowing him access because he was with me. “Really?“, I said, with more than a hint of irony. I then had to admit what I had done. Anything else would have been cruel and immodest.

Kal on the site guardian's threshold at Ludchurch

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I had a chain of sites in mind for Imbolc this year. Kal and I had already gone through the list and dowsed an order or preference based upon the energetic requirements of the people who would be there – Kal, Mike and myself. For Kal the important sites would be Lud’s Church and St Helen’s Well. For myself and Mike the important site would be The Bridestones. In addition I wanted to show Kal Clulow Cross too, but then I sprung a surprise on everyone. Marton Chapel near Congleton, Cheshire would be our first site.

For some reason I needed to go to Marton Chapel. I didn’t know why but something about it appealed to me. I don’t even remember how I came across the name of this church. Somehow, in some research one evening, the name appeared. The name had been written down on a piece of paper for several weeks now, but Imbolc felt like the time to pay the place a visit. I dowsed some possible reasons for going, using educated and intuitive guesses to get the questions. The result was that I believed I might meet with the shadeA shade is the energy body of a human being that has become transfixed at a geographical location. The shade retains many of the qualities of the human that it was attached to (memories, character traits, a level of sentience, movement between places known in life). (the emergetic remainder) of someone who wanted to speak with me. How odd! Really? I was curious, but also cautious, and checked to see whether this was a good idea. The dowsing rods told me it was. OK – let’s do it and see what happened!

Grounding and smiling

As we pulled into the churchyard I could see that this was at least going to be a wonderful photograph. The clear blue Winter sky formed a perfect backdrop for the quaint timber-framed church building. It was delightful and the moods of the assembled companions – Mike, Kal and I – could not have been merrier. I wandered for a moment but then felt like I was being drawn to one of the yew trees near the rear end of the church – it’s eastern end. I found a clear spot beneath the tree and knew this was the position. I got my dowsing rods out and walked back a few paces. In all innocence and with the most objectivity I could muster I asked for the best place for me to be right now – I was led in a tight curl back to the place I had been standing. This was the strongest energy point for me.

Seconds later Kal turns up and confirms the spot as the strongest, but says that all the shades have been drawn into the tree by its incredible strength. Already I knew what he was talking about. I could feel the pulling momentum of the tree as it was drawing energy into its trunk and down through its roots. To say that Yew trees are excellent at energy grounding is akin to saying that the sky was blue. Mike was also interested in the tree, offering a different perspective on proceedings by confirming the strength of the attractive power, and adding that it is generating a “happy”, “laughter” energy. It did feel good to stand beneath its branches, that was undeniable. We all were smiling just by being close to it. We were being grounded and cleansed, and that felt good.

Marton Chapel - a timber-framed church near Congleton, Cheshire.

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