After leaving Stonehenge, we drove further on across Wiltshire to Figsbury Ring, a late Neolithic henge [earthwork] on the Salisbury Plain. I first visited here about fourteen years ago with a friend from Basingstoke, and have always wanted to return.
We walked around the ring, enjoying the view of the plain. Apart from a herd of lazily mooing cows near the oak trees at the centre of the ring, and our four hobbits, all was quiet in the afternoon sunshine.
Mr J was in Middle Earth, and Lefty and Righty spent most of their time discussing whether or not to approach the cows. Coo loved running up and down the slopes of the ring, and we did lots of drawing in the chalky dirt with tiny pieces of pure white chalk from the hillside.
The contrast between this sleepy place and its overgrown car park, with noisy neatly trimmed Stonehenge is very stark. Both are impressively beautiful, but in very different ways. As much as I appreciate the pull of Stonehenge's fascinating history, the peace of Figsbury Ring seeped into all of us and though lesser known than Stonehenge, its appeal was just as strong.