It was 5 years ago today that I made the pilgrimage to Stonehenge with my family. At the time we had been home schooling our two daughters, then 5 and 8. The stone circle had become a topic for us because of quite fantastic episode of Doctor Who. At the time many of those Matt Smith episodes were historically themed and provided excellent jump-off points for learning. Van Gogh was another one with rich avenues to be explored.

What I had intended to be a momentous and inspirational visit turned out to be quite something else. Within minutes of arriving on site and passing the tool booth I stuffed my camera in to my wife’s hand, stepped over the little red rope and took ten paces towards the stone circle. I reached up in awe at the unexpected scale and pressed my hand on to what felt like craggy moss, similar to the barnacles you find on a sea-break — hairy and green. The stone was cold. I turned with a grin to have my photo snapped.

The tourists mulled slowly around the set track and I stepped back over the rope to join them. Moments later I was approached by a young bearded man with a walkie talkie who said:

“I want you to leave”

I should have responded:

“I want you to do the same — and take your fences and gift shop with you.”.

I did leave and my devastated children followed behind streaming with tears. My wife was furious. You are not allowed to step over the rope. You are not allowed to touch the stones.

I was quoted an ancient law regarding the protection of historical monuments or some such which on reflection was not enough to eject me from the premises — but it was the attitude and authority with which the men with walkie talkies an luminous jackets spoke with that intimidated us to such that we submitted to their request without protest. They could see my children were heartbroken, they didn’t care. It was my fault. After all, I had broken the rules.

Except you can. If you know the right people and you pay the right price.

Whilst my wife was rightfully lambasting me in the car we witnessed a group of teenage girls clambering over the fallen stones, dancing with gay abandon within the circle and way beyond that red rope.

A man with an luminous jacket and walkie talkie flanked them. They had ‘after hours’ access. They knew something we didn’t know. And for just a moment the hypocrisy caused my wife to pause her tear strewn tirade.

They have never forgiven me. My children. The idea of returning to Stonehenge fills them with dread. It is laden with painful memories. But it was a potent experience for me. It reflects my thinking about ‘the rules’.

“Reality is negotiable” ~ Timothy Ferriss

Those made up bits of nonsense separate ‘us’ from ‘them’. The men with walkie talkies that convince you to beleive what you can and can’t do.

The irony of the date of our visit has not been lost on me. Had we ventured out 1 day later we would have milled amongst the drummers, druids and revellers and walked freely round the stones. June 21st. A day when the Sun reaches its highest point relative to the equator.

For this 1 day of the year they remove the rope.

We went on the wrong day.

For the past couple of years I have attempted to sway my family to re-visit Stonehenge. On that day when the rope is put away and the people that ignore the men with walkie talkies turn up. There are of course far more people without walkie talkies. On the day when there is an exception to the rules. That’s the day I want to take them. My girls. One day I can take them and maybe they will forgive me for jumping over the rope.

That evening in the campsite when everyone was asleep in the tent, with their little whimpering breaths from too much crying. I stepped out in to the night and was hit by the breathtaking beauty of the sky. Scratched with hundreds of shooting stars and awash with starlight. I walked around in awe, pulled out some device from my pocket and tapped away the following words:

The closer we approached the henge the more my contempt grew for the present guardians of the site.

The tour bus, the cafe, the rock cakes and ticket barriers and insincere spotty pubescent staff and audio tours and snapping tourists. And the terrible barbed wire fence and the ultimate insult — a scar on the landscape. A busy a road scorching it’s way through the area bringing with it the coke drinking all you can eat buffet of tourists hungry for their photos and sunglass tinted view of some stones. The National Heritage disgrace cuts through the site which is so much more than a circle of stones, it is a network of burial mounds and stones scattered far around.

The irony of touching the stones and literally stepping over the line during office hours is that we hung around the site after hours to witness the privileged hot pant wearing girls cartwheeling and clambering on the stones. This brought home to Susannah the lunacy of the rules and their enforcers. They made the rules up and they will break them apart as and when they choose too. They can do that.

There are many theories of why the henge was built, it’s quite possible they already know the reason but if they publish an answer there goes the mystery. Who will pay to see a bunch of rocks in a field? One thing of which I am certain is that the architects intention had nothing to do with selling ice creams or branded erasers made in China.

Stonehenge is man’s best attempt to create a monument to the permanence of The Universe. A little circle of stones surrounded by burial mounds to scratch a mark in the earth — and ‘I woz ere’ for later generations.

In the infinite space and time this monument to infinity is a grain of sand in comparison to the vast mountain of everything else in existence outside of the circle.

Stonehenge is not the attraction. The attraction is what is seen through its windows.

 

If they published that then there would be no point in making the journey and paying the entrance fee. You can see the magic and wonder from where you are standing right now. You are already at the centre of your own circle of wonder, the mystery of the why and how this was built are red-herrings. Simply the base of the mountain. You are standing at the summit of the answer. The journey of a thousand miles ends without a single step.

 

Stonehenge has mistakenly become a point of focus when its purpose is to be a point from which to focus from / an un-focusing point, to magnify the hugeness of the outside of the circle, the circular horizon, the dome of blue sky and ever-changing lava lamp of clouds and stars, the circle my eyes are carried on as my head travels around drinking in this panorama, green and blues and yellows. In to my spherical eyes.

Stonehenge is a lens to realise the real mystery and vastness and wonder of the universe.

I still want to go back. To join the party. When the drums are beating to my rhythm. To jump the invisible red rope and to wipe the tears from my children’s eyes so that they may clearly see the beauty all around.

And maybe even forgive me.

“We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
—World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.”
from ‘Ode’ by  Arthur O’Shaughnessy

I believe that the purpose of the teacher is to draw out the best in her pupil, it is in this unique exchange that both pupil and teacher  help reveal their true selves.

Every week for the past 3 years we took our daughter Ella to see Bella at the summit of Beacon Hill in Newark. Some weeks I would drive Ella but mostly my wife had the pleasure. The weekly dash from school to Newark could always  be a little stressful but you could always be sure of a welcoming sofa and a warm cat on your lap.

Bella had an extraordinary ability to connect with our daughter in a way that is very rare.

My family and I were all extremely sad to learn that Bella had passed away in March after a very brief but intense illness.

The magical thing about music is that it transcends our physical forms. It is sustained through the magic that travels between people. I know that Ella will carry some of the music Bella shared with her.

Although Ella will eventually find another teacher to help her learn to play the piano there will not be another person that could take her on the flights of fancy that Bella Conn took her.

I know Ella loved her, they were good friends in spite of the age difference.

Bella revealed some of Ella’s potential and for that I am grateful. Our youngest daughter Rosa was equally sad. Bella happily allowed Rosa to tinkle away on the piano each week and I know Rosa was looking forward to fun sessions learning to play with Bella as her teacher. Rosa remembers with delight the time we were sent outside to pilfer as many ripe plums as we could pick from the tree in the garden.

Music lives on…

Here is a recording I made on my phone one evening not long before Christmas last year. I had completely forgotten about it! It was one of those lovely impromptu moments at the end of a lesson where  they would ‘play’ in the proper sense, this time Bella asked to hear what Ella had been learning in singing lessons at school and off they went!

I am sorry about the poor quality of the recording, I had little idea at the time how significant this would be on so many levels. I think you also, will hear some of the magic I heard happening that evening, whilst that cat sat purring on my lap…