Silbury Hill, Wiltshire, England.
After more than six years of internal wrangling, English Heritage have finally, decided on the best way to fix the mighty Sibury Hill - Britain's largest ancient mound, 4,000 years old.
Silbury is one of Britain's most enigmatic structures, like Stonehenge, it is the only structure like it in Britain and so far archaeologists have been unable to suggest a purpose for its construction during the Bronze Age.
It is this enigmatic quality that in many ways has been its undoing; About thirty years ago, Archaeologist Atkinson in conjunction with the BBC tunnelled in to the hill but failed to properly sure up the tunnels at the end of the investigation.
In 2000 these tunnels started collapsing, causing the hill to subside and raising fears of a major collapse. At the time English Heritage closed the hill to public access and asked for urgent funds for the hills repair.
Yet six years on, English Heritage, have finally announced that they have chose a method and a contractor; Skanska to do the work. Unfortunately, those concerned for the welbeing of the hill will still have to wait until 2007 before repairs will begin.
Nigel Swift of campaign group Heritage Action commented that "The total delay will be at least eight years - 70,000 hours. It has been estimated that a team of fifty men would have taken that long to build the entire hill and have time left for West Kennet long barrow!"
However, campaigners are in the main relieved that the long wait will soon be over.
For more information visit Heritage Action's website www.heritageaction.org.
Ode to a vandalised stone
In June 1996 paint was smeared over the standing stones at Avebury's famous stone avenue. Two stones were daubed with paint, one with the word 'cuckoo' and the other almost entirely painted red and green. The attack took place during the evening on June 17 or the early hours of June 18.
Ten years on we remember the damage with a poem from Barbara Tomlinson.
The Henge Stones
Ye did not noe
That they could goe
And nod theyr Grizl'd Heads
Leave theyr Mossie Beds
To whisper antient Lore
While the Moone flees from the Shore
And Darknesse reigns as afore.
They maun't be seene
By Mortal Eie
'Tis Death to spie
But when the Sunne
Hath his Race begun
They Silent fale
Stand stille and tall
Agaynst the Skie
None noweth why
Their Secrets they doe keepe
When we waxe wide awake
Originally pulished at http://megalithicpoems.blogspot.com/