Belas Knap, and the significance of gargoyles

I like visiting archaeological features in the landscape, but don't often get the chance. Sussex has some iron age hillforts, and some ancient flint mines, but little else. You need to go west and north to see standing stones, stone circles, burial chambers and the like.

When pitched at Burford, I looked closely at the map to see whether there was anything on the Cotswolds worth a look. Belas Knap beckoned. This was a long barrow: a long mound with burial chambers inside. I did a post about one of these, Wayland's Smithy, on 27th March 2016. That will give you a sneak preview. But they are all different. So I thought it would be worth the effort of seeing Belas Knap as well. The OS map suggested that as it was situated on the top of a steepish hill, there should be good views.

Here are three location maps. The first two show the general location - south of Winchcombe, east of Cheltenham. I was approaching Belas Knap via the road up from Charlton Abbots. 

The next OS map extract gives all the detail. I needed to park Fiona off the road, opposite where a footpath headed upwards through woodland to an open field - where the map shows '208' as the spot height. Entering the field, the path then leveled off to skirt its northern perimeter, before heading upwards again, and eventually to Belas Knap. 

As I got out of my car, I felt no qualms about the climb ahead. 

But a glance at the way ahead toned that confident smile down a bit.

And halfway up the first section of path (to the open field) I was feeling decidedly senior and unfit! I had to rest.  

It was cloudy and slightly on the cool side. Rain was forecast; but I reckoned that I could look at Belas Knap before any drizzle set in. In that I was wrong. A pitter-patter of rain began as I reached the open field. It was welcome in one sense - it was refreshing on hot skin. But I wasn't dressed for a soaking. 

However, having come up the steepest bit of the climb, I wasn't going to waste the effort and tamely return to the car. So I pressed on, keeping to the edge of the field instead of taking a path (not marked on the map) which went diagonally across it, cutting out the corner and saving time - but exposing one to the rain, which had now intensified. I went from tree to tree a couple of hundred yards at a time, having a bit of a breather under each set of overhanging branches, until I got to the top of the field. There the path levelled off, and not too soon for me! It had been quite a climb. 

I wasn't alone: there were couples ahead of me, and some returning from Belas Knap. Or perhaps they were doing a longer walk. Looking back after meeting one couple (much more suitably dressed than myself) I took in the view northwards to Winchcombe. Rather good, despite the haziness.

The rain stopped as I reached another level bit at the top of the field. Just as well: the path ahead would have degenerated into a sea of brown mud if it had got too wet. Indeed, I did wonder how the steep path back through the woods would now be. Lethally slippery? Well, let's continue in style, and never mind the return leg.  

Ten more minutes, and I got to Belas Knap. I'd dried off by now.

It was in the care of English Heritage, and they had done their usual good job of presenting it in a state to be appreciated. An information board explained its history and what had been discovered inside. What looked like a grand entrance at the nearest end was in fact a dummy entrance, just for show. The real business, the funerary chambers, were further away, along the sides and at the other end. The plan suggested that the barrow was overlarge for the number and size of these chambers. Maybe more chambers could have been created as time went by, but never were. 

This was the dummy entrance, where ceremonies might have taken place.

Walking past it, and along the west side of this long barrow, I came to an open chamber that one could enter. Good shelter if it rained again! The roof was on the low side, though. I almost brained myself.

I sat down on one of the larger stones. It wasn't comfortable, but OK for a few minutes. It crossed my mind that these larger stones in the burial chamber bore a strong resemblance to those 'hangman's stones' I blogged about a few posts ago.

Outside again, I got on top of the long barrow to get whatever panoramic view it might offer. It was a little disappointing. What should have been the best long-distance view - to the east - was completely obscured by the modern trees. To the north was this:

To the west this:

And to the south this:

Let's suppose there were no nearby trees in the ancient landscape. The barrow still wouldn't have been particularly prominent on the skyline. A long low bump only - if you knew where to look. 

Still, it was very pleasant up on top of the barrow. The sun came out for a brief moment. Exhilarating.

Was it worth the climb? Considering that there wasn't very much to see at Belas Knap itself, frankly no. 

That said, the return hike was much nicer, and until I re-entered the last wooded bit, I had good views in my face all the way. I met a middle-aged couple coming uphill, as I was going down. He was puffing a bit. She was worse. 'Are we going the right way?' she asked me. 'Oh yes, just continue upwards to that far corner of the field, then it's a level path all the way to Belas Knap.' 'Upwards? A far corner?' she bleated with a sigh. 'Yes, but it's flat after that,' said her husband encouragingly. It was apparent that visiting Belas Knap was his idea, not hers. I hope they made it. 

Thankfully the rain hadn't turned the steep section down through the woods into a sea of mud. It was quite dry. That was a relief. 

Which way back to Burford? I decided to return via Winchcombe, which I hadn't visited for a long time. The big church caught my eye, and it was open. But you could only go a little way inside, most of the interior being roped off to prevent virus-contamination. But you could wander around outside. The gargoyles along the edge of the roof caught my eye.  

Strange things, gargoyles. Designed to frighten away evil spirits, or the Devil, I suppose. But to me they don't look frightening, just grotesque. But then I don't inhabit the medieval world, and haven't got a medieval mind. It might be that any mis-shapen face, any monstrous body, any image whatever that wasn't normal and perfect in form (and therefore godly) was something to be afraid of in those superstitious days. No doubt many got accused of being witches on their appearance alone, with dire consequences. A poor outlook, then, if one developed gargoyle looks in later life!