It was already dusk (about four-thirty in the afternoon) when I reached the turn-off from the highway that led to the village itself [of Chipping Norton in the Cotswolds]. A sign on a stone wall said "B&B - GO THROUGH GATE" - and pointed its arrow finger to the right. I turned in at the gate, drove down a long driveway and parked at the rear of a low stucco cottage. Rain was still falling, although it wasn't cold. Sheep grazed in a field behind me, and sprouts and sagging cabbages still grew in a small garden to one side. On the other side of the wall at the edge of the property was a large golf course. I parked on the short, intensely green grass next to the wall, walked up to the back door and knocked. The door opened and a man appeared. I asked him if he had a single for the night. Yes, he did, and the price was eight pounds, or eleven if I wanted supper. I thanked him and accepted both. He told me to go around the house to the front door, which he said was unlocked. I collected my bags and walked around to the front with them, opened the door and went inside.

A woman, evidently his wife, stood in the hallway. She seemed reluctant to let me have the room, which was a double, saying they had a reservation for two ladies who were coming to play golf, but finally gave in and showed me to a room in the front which was overwhelmingly pink. Pale pink walls, pink-and-white comforters on the twin beds, a pink rag rug on the floor, delicate pink glass curtains in the windows, a pink table runner on the cream-painted dresser. Even the china figurines on the dresser were preponderantly pink! I carefully stowed my bags in an unobtrusive spot, consulted my guide to stone circles and decided to have a go at finding the Rollright Stones before nightfall. It felt very exciting to be finally in a position to do this! I got my willow dowsing rod and the two wire coat hangers I used for the same purpose out of my green carryall, selected the map which indicated their location and went out into the hall.

Knocking on the door to the kitchen, I asked the man of the house for more detailed directions on how to reach the stones. He assured me it was very easy to find them, saying they were "about ten miles down, just off the highway," but didn't give any more specific directions. I went out to my car, got in and drove out of the driveway, turned right onto the Chipping Norton road and drove out and onto the highway. Traffic was mercilessly incessant and very rapid. It was almost impossible to drive slowly without being honked at. I drove along, peering at every side road for a sign. One appeared, on my right - "LITTLE ROLLRIGHT 3 M". I drove off onto it, hoping for the best. When nothing but the village itself showed up during those three miles, I turned around in a muddy farmyard gateway and drove back and onto the highway again. This time a sign saying "GREAT ROLLRIGHT 5 M" appeared on the left. OK. I drove off down this road. About halfway there, the road branched. I stayed straight, and soon ended up in this village. Nope. I turned back, and swung off to the left at the fork.

This road was quite narrow, passing through dark hollows hovered over by huge oak trees, over little stone bridges, then up steep slopes leading to the sky. Fields lay on either side. A wild, Wagnerian sunset, in piled, immense cloud-formations in green, purple and lead-grey was building on the west, presaging a clearing in the weather for morning. I drove on through the gathering dark with a growing sense of excitement. Somehow I knew I was on the right road at last. My heart began to beat more rapidly. A crude, hand-lettered sign saying "ROLLRIGHT STONES 1/2 MILE" and an arrow pointing in the direction I was driving appeared on the right. I was on the right road.

Dark was coming on very rapidly now. I drove on slowly, peering through the hedges to fields beyond. When it seemed to me I must have gone at least a mile, I suddenly caught sight of a glimmering of scattered greyish-white objects far off at the very end of a large field standing motionless in the nearly pitch dark. Parking, I ran out into the field, but realized my mistake about halfway there when one of them moved. It was a flock of sheep! By now my inner sense of anticipation had waned and I felt sure I had now gone past the stones. It was just about impossible to see anything, so I gave up and drove on. Sure enough, I was indeed close to the highway. I got back to the house just in time for supper.

Supper was a magnificent feast in the best English style, so close to my own New England tradition. Delicious roast lamb, home grown and dressed, with gravy, potatoes and Brussels sprouts, both from their garden, fresh mint jelly, and boiled custard pudding with thawed frozen raspberries (also their own) on top for dessert. The two ladies turned out to be jolly and talkative, and the meal was altogether most enjoyable.

The next morning I got up at what, by my reckoning, was nearly seven o'clock and determined to set out again before breakfast to find the stones by dawn light. Since I had asked my hostess for breakfast at eight, I figured there would be enough time, and I would get to see them in the early light of day. She was already up, and opened the kitchen door to ask if I wouldn't like my breakfast before I went. I thanked her and said I didn't want to wait - but that I would be back in time. So off I set, and this time found the place quite easily. It had been distressingly domesticated - in fact, commercialized - behind a stone wall with a gate which advised you to deposit 30p in a box for the privilege of visiting. I did this, and was finally free to approach the circle itself.

..

The Rollright stones in the mist of early morning

It was a powerful experience. At first glance the circle was not very large, being some twenty feet or so in diameter, nor the stones themselves very tall, perhaps three to four feet high. They looked as though they had either been lopped off or had simply worn down. The stones stood in a little grassy area surrounded by woods and wall, by themselves. It is hard to describe the feeling tone of this place. The best I can do is to say that there was a strong - a strong - sense of presence there. I can still feel it, thinking back and letting it come back to me. The stones all just sort of stood there, facing toward each other, and endured. I had the feeling that what they were maintaining, had been maintaining all these millennia, in spite of time, in spite of weathering, in spite of cultural indifference or worse - was something quite, quite important - in fact, crucial! It felt as though the prosperity, the fertility of this entire area of England was somehow being sustained by a huge energy system which crucially included this concentration of it in circle form, as though the circle were a kind of transmitter. All of this flashed through my mind as I stood at the edge, watching, listening, experiencing.

Then I took my coat hangers, feeling at once awed and foolish, and began slowly walking into the circle. Almost at once they turned outward ("male"). I continued to walk slowly toward the center. Now the hangers were swerving back to the straight forward position, and then, swinging gradually inward ("female" or "widdershins" in dowsing language). I continued to walk slowly toward the center. Out again, now in, out, and now I was nearing the center. In! Female! I held the hangers over the center itself, a shallow, bare depression in the ground some two feet in diameter with a little pool of rainwater in it. Yes, female. I got out my little pendulum and held it over the bare spot. It gyrated wildly in a counter-clockwise direction. Female! I felt a surge of love and joy for this incredible phenomenon I was experiencing. The energy seemed to come from deep in the ground. I felt I was gazing at the lip of a great cervix, the uterus itself being deep underground.

By now I was feeling very much in the circle's presence, although I was equally aware that I was only barely a part of that presence. I began going from stone to stone, feeling their rough surfaces with my hands, exploring the clefts and bulges, dowsing their energy, but mainly, responding to each one with deep feelings of love, gratitude and reverence! I wanted to hug and kiss each silent witness, while at the same time I stood in awe of this incredible phenomenon with one foot in eternity, as it were, the other in our world - so nearly out of time as to be immortal, yet so willing to endure in this dimension! Truly these great stones felt to me alive. There didn't seem to be any regular pattern as to which were male and which were female - although they were about equally divided. I had also a sense of the missing part of each of them, as though each one had an invisible energy field above it, rather as one's body image of a whole limb remains for some time after the limb has been amputated. They no longer felt so short to me.

Coming out of the circle again, I went around to the edge of the plowed field behind and found a small stone which dowsed "female" to take home with me. I got back into my car and drove on a bit to the place where the "King Stone" stood, on the other side of the road, set off by a square iron railing tipped with upward-pointing spikes and a notice not to trespass. I came as close as I could but felt nothing except a kind of aloof and silent isolation, so left. I never did come on the "Whispering Knights," also a part of the entire formation, but set apart.

My watch said five minutes of eight as I walked into the dining room, but the two ladies sitting at their table informed me that it was nine, and that I had been expected at eight! I had forgotten to allow for daylight savings, which would have meant subtracting an additional hour from ours to reach Greenwich Mean Time! I was chagrined. My breakfast was more than ample, and the lady of the house coldly polite as she acknowledged my profuse apologies and explanations, but it was crystal-clear that she wished she had never taken me on!

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