By: Blonde Two
One of the most amazing things about life with a camper van is that you can stop and rest whenever you need to. Last week Mr B2 and I needed to get back home more promptly than planned from a family event in Margate. By the time we had cleared the London Underbelly (M25 and M3), it was well past bedtime and obvious that we needed to stop for a rest. We pulled off the A303 on the approach to Stonehenge and headed up a lane and into the first car park we came to (little knowing that it was the Woodhenge car park). In what I think must have been less than 15 minutes we were asleep, snuggled safely in our sleeping bags, without really taking much notice of our darkened surroundings.
Despite my eye mask (a trick we picked up for midnight sun sleeping in Norway), I was awake early and soon needed to visit the outdoors. I opened the van door to reveal a beautiful frosty landscape and decided quickly that, despite the cold, it was too gorgeous outside to do anything but explore. I shoved my coat and boots on over my bedtime thermals (van PJs) and wandered, through the enveloping mist, along the lane. The air was crisp and joyous to inhale, and the frost made a delicious crunch each time I took a step (we don’t get a lot of frost in my part of South Devon).
It was when I came to a small pedestrian gate that I realised we were somewhere special. I had forgotten about Woodhenge, Stonehenge’s wooden cousin, and had certainly never seen it. I wandered in and stood in amazement at what I saw. Fat posts arranged in circular shapes appeared to grow out of the frost laden grass whilst a fat, insipid sun rose behind them, casting no shadows through the mist but suffusing everything with its luminescent glow.
Later that morning Mr B2 and I explored the area more thoroughly and found further information and artifacts, including the Cuckoo Stone above. At that first moment though I wanted to allow my senses the pleasure of being completely alone with history. I walked slowly but purposefully around the circle, paid my respects to the small cairn in the centre and left, feeling more like a participator than an observer.