Last time I was here there weren't any cows. Or bullocks. Just wheat.
Oh and in case I forgot to mention it, the weather was rotten - raining very heavily and persistently.
In my misery at seeing my way forward thwarted by bullocks the fact I was being soaked faded into the background. All I could focus on was that my intended goal was to be denied me due to my fear of bullocks.
I started down the path. Then I noticed that the animals were grazing towards the footpath leading through their pasture. I froze in an agony of indecision, then turned tail and fled.
When I was back in the relative safety of the layby I stood and looked mournfully up over the hill at my unattainable goal.
Then I cried. Actually, crying is an understatement of what I did. I howled - in frustration at my inability to overcome my fear; in deep sadness at failing my children who were to join me in the journey and in fear for being treated like an idiot or silly person.
I felt a hand on my right shoulder and a little voice said, 'It's ok Mummy'. Then an arm wrapped around my left side and my husband joined in the hug. December (who was standing in front of me) looked me straight in the eye and said, 'Its ok to be scared of things, Mummy. I was scared of abseiling but still managed to do it.' I howled some more, but a bit quieter. My family still loved me and were being really supportive and caring.
Eventually I calmed down and felt as though a great burden had lifted from me.
Peeling off our sodden coats we got back into the car and, feeling fed up, I drove away looking for somewhere to turn around so that we could head into Avebury.
After about a mile I saw a turning on the right which I took and I found myself driving on. About 1/4 mile down the lane we saw a public footpath sign so I parked the car and we all piled out and thought we'd see where it went. To my delight we soon realised that this path ran at 90° to the path through the bullock field (with a sturdy fence between us!) and 15 minutes later we were sheltering under an oak tree with ribbons tied to its branches, hoping that the rain would ease off before we started up the hill.
It didn't.
So, having photographed the swifts darting around the raindrops one more time, we ducked our heads and set out once more into the downpour.
By the time we reached the longbarrow we were drenched from ankle to waist. As we paused by the stones blocking the entrance we became aware of chanting emanating from within. At the entrance we found an abandoned umbrella and, cautiously, entered. Our eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light as we moved forward into the barrow and the singing was joined by drumming, which grew to a crescendo as we reached the end of the passage. We were relieved to see that this was all being produced by two very human men, who told us they were singing Hindu chants to Shiva.
As we stepped out of the shadows into the rain, the ethereal notes of a penny whistle echoed out from behind us. Beautiful ❤
What a day!
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