A distant horizon conquered
Setting off to solve the mystery of a far-off monument
ON Boxing Day, in by far the best weather over Christmas, I climbed to the very top of the scaffolding on the house my daughter and son-in-law are building in our village in Gloucestershire. From the roof there is a wonderful view south and Kit had seen a distant vertical spike he wanted to identify. It was directly in line with Kemble church’s slender spire, but we couldn’t work out how far away it was— definitely beyond the M4. What could it be?
Several maps and straight lines later, he found it: Cherhill (or Lansdowne) Monument, high on the Wiltshire Downs, about 20 miles away and owned by the National Trust. Where else to do my Christmas walk?
Choosing a day when it wasn’t pouring and blowing a gale was even less easy, but, finally settling on a date, I set off in dubious drizzle. I’d found a circular route, starting from the car park next to the gallops for the famous Beckhampton racehorse training stables on the outskirts of Avebury. Obeying the stern signs that tell you not to enter the gallops when the horses are working (they aren’t, today), I walk up the hill, drawn by the monument we can see from home. Slender and elegant, it soars above the undulating landscape.
These are the Wiltshire Downs, along which the ancient Ridgeway runs and which have since ancient times provided a travellers’ route through southern England, some say along one of the country’s most powerful ley lines. I’m walking now on the Old Bath Road, which runs parallel to the A4 and takes me straight to the monument.
Close up, the Cherhill Monument looks less elegant and more vulnerable, although straight as a die and an impressive 125ft tall. Its base is boarded up and there’s an apologetic message from the National Trust explaining that it’s in need of repair, but that funds aren’t yet available. The hidden inscription is reproduced: ‘Designed by Charles Barry and built in 1845 by the 3rd Marquis of Lansdowne in memory of his ancestor Sir William Petty (1627–1684).’
Lansdowne owned nearby Bowood House and the monument is an impressive eyecatcher for the estate. The sign further explains that it was last repaired in 1990. Oh dear, I think, grateful that it’s no longer my responsibility.
Vainly, I look at the view. No sign of Rose and Kit’s house from here or even Kemble church—i guess the visibility to be a measly two miles today. I walk on, first casting northwards to visit the White Horse carved into the almost vertical chalk face of the steep downland combe. It was cut in 1780 by order of a local physician from Calne and it needs a little refreshment, too, although the jaunty angle of the horse’s head is cheery in the continuing drizzle.
My route goes on, past the monument and down a wide grassy lane. Below is the village of Cherhill, famous for its 18th-century highwaymen (there were good pickings on the Bath Road) and I walk beyond it before turning south to Calstone along a muddy lane.
As the rain stops, I turn uphill to approach the great monument from the west. At last, I’m rewarded by the first tentative rays of sunlight and the whole glorious aspect is laid out before me. It’s now clear that the monument is built atop an Iron Age hill fort, Oldbury Castle, the ramps and ditches of which are beautifully picked out by the strengthening sun.
I take the snaking path upwards, marvelling at this spectacular ancient landscape, and return to the monument for a last hopeful look at the view. No luck—the next band of rain is sweeping in and I leave, glad to have got to know our own distant eye-catcher.
The spike was in line with Kemble church’s spire, but we couldn’t work out where it was