In the heart of southern England, north of the City of Oxford, there is an ancient region where the land crinkles into sharp hills and valleys. Old villages filled with long, low stone cottages nestle into deep valleys, the buildings clustering together for protection from the towering hill-tops. The woods here are old and deep, and they don’t much like humanity. Often, people have built low walls between the trees and the twisting roads that wind through them, as if scared that the forest might try to steal unwary travellers.
If you take an unmarked left-hand turn off the main road a little way before the village of Long Compton, just as the road starts to plummet down into another hidden valley, you’ll find yourself heading out along one of the hill-top ridges. Continue on, and eventually you’ll come round a corner to discover that you are face to face with a large circle of ancient standing stones lurkng in a wooded grove. These are the Rollright Stones, older than memory, raised more than five thousand years ago by people we don’t understand.
The Rollright Stones, photo by Nick Garrod (via Flickr)
You can’t count the Rollright Stones. I’ve tried, many times — there’s somewhere between 70 and 85 of them, but the answer seems different every time. The stones vary from sad, tiny fragments beaten by fifty centuries of storms to towering pillars, defiant and proud. To the north, a little way from the circle, a single stone, the King Stone, stands glowering down over the circle. An Elderberry bush wraps round its base, and Long Compton Village is hidden just over a small rise in the hill. To the east, a small group of heavy stones called the Whispering Knights huddle together conspiratorially.
Legend says that there was once a King who wanted to rule all of England. He conquered many towns, and it seemed that he was sure to achieve victory, when he came to the land north of the City of Oxford. He made camp in the hills above Long Compton one night, ready to swoop down on the village the next morning. While his men were preparing the camp, he went to the top of the hill to examine the village and make plans. Meanwhile, some of his commanders crept away, making traitorous plans of their own to murder him and take his crown.
As the King watched the village, an ancient witch came up to him, and greeted him by name, in that place where none should have known him. The King was proud, and was not scared by witches, so he greeted her back. Then she offered him a challenge, as he looked down at Long Compton:
Seven long steps you shall take,
If Long Compton you can see,
King of England you shall be.
The King could already see the village, so of course he accepted greedily:
Stick, stock, stone,
As King of England I shall be known.
The witch cackled, and beckoned him to take his seven paces. He took a step, and nothing happened, other than the witch starting to smile. He took another. And another. And three more besides, the witch’s smile getting bigger and bigger. Finally, as he took his last step, the witch gestured, and the hill rose up in front of him like a wave. He turned round, angry at the trick, and found himself suddenly stuck to the spot. The witch looked deep into his eyes, and said:
As Long Compton you can not see,
King of England you shall not be.
Rise up stick, and stand still stone,
For King of England you shall be none.
You and your men hoar-stones shall be,
And I myself an Elder Tree.
A wave swept over he King, his men, and even his traitorous knights, and they were all turned to stone, and they remain so today. The witch had become a big Elderberry bush, and she still sits at the King’s base, watching over his imprisonment.
I am an ISTJ. Off to work now will be back later for a longer read.
Ooo, my first comment! Nice to meet you Denyse. Your site looks interesting, too.