| a book about the hillforts of England and Wales, has been continuing his work ever since, sifting through the reams of old paperwork and artefacts excavated in the original dig, that Dyer left behind. There are also numerous bones that have been discovered, which are still to be analysed. It had been assumed that Ravensburgh was the fort of a fearsome Iron Age warlord, but Ian Brown believes it far more likely to have belonged to a group of sheep farmers, with its imposing defences as much to protect their livestock from the wolves that roamed the Chilterns, as invading armies. He has not yet been able to establish the exact reason for the name Ravensburgh, which can be roughly translated as ‘town of the ravens’ (‘burg’ denotes a large settlement), but the answer may still be lying in the earth beneath his feet. In 1969, another archaeologist called Barry Cunliffe – who was a supervisor to Ian Brown when he was still a student – began excavating a different hillfort called Danebury, built in Hampshire in the sixth century bc and used until about 100 bc. The dig has continued almost ever since, and in the process, Cunliffe has made an extraordinary discovery. Deep in the ground, in a similar chalk landscape to the one Ravensburgh Castle stands on, are pits that had been dug and deliberately sealed. Currently, 2,400 of the pits have been discovered. Largely, they were used for the storage of grain, but many have also been |
A scattering of crows that have been perching precariously at the top of a clutch of silver birch, take off in pursuit. That deep sound echoes thrillingly in my ears before the normal dawn murmurings of the forest resume. I never manage to see the raven, and further inside, raptors take over: another sparrowhawk and then later a buzzard gliding silently over a flooded marsh before settling in the upper boughs of a pine. A few miles away on the map is Norley Wood, an inclosure close to the marshes of the Boldre Foreshore and the eighteenth-century shipbuilding village of Buckler’s Hard. In 1811 they decided to create an inclosure protecting 163 acres of Norley Wood’s remaining oak, elm and beech forests. I make for its southern point to a place called Ravensbeck Farm. The farm lies at the end of a road past well-kept gardens of expensive-looking cottages, and bird tables teeming with sparrows whose chirps intersperse with a woman singing opera in her living room. Everything, from front doors to border hedges, appears freshly-painted and clipped, although Ravensbeck Farm at the end offers a different prospect. The farmhouse is brick-built with its walls coloured a pale green wash. Up a muddy path there are large, corrugated cowsheds on one side, and stone troughs on the other sprouting early season English bluebells and daffodils. As I near the front door, I am assailed by a medley of cocker spaniels and sheepdogs yapping and growling. A man wearing a fleece |
