It Was A Lively Scene, A General Scrimmage, In Which
Everyone Was Trying To Capture An Elusive Football With Ears
And legs to it, which went darting and spinning about hither
and thither among the multitudinous legs, until earth
compassionately
Opened and swallowed poor distracted bunny up.
It was but little better inside the enclosure, where the big
fallen stones behind the altar-stone, in the middle, on which
the first rays of sun would fall, were taken possession of by
a crowd of young men who sat and stood packed together like
guillemots on a rock. These too, cheated by that rising cloud
of the spectacle they had come so far to see, wanted to have a
little fun, and began to be very obstreperous. By and by they
found out an amusement very much to their taste.
Motor-cars were now arriving every minute, bringing important-
looking persons who had timed their journeys so as to come
upon the scene a little before 3:45, when the sun would show
on the horizon; and whenever one of these big gentlemen
appeared within the circle of stones, especially if he was big
physically and grotesque-looking in his motorist get-up, he
was greeted with a tremendous shout. In most cases he would
start back and stand still, astonished at such an outburst,
and then, concluding that the only way to save his dignity was
to face the music, he would step hurriedly across the green
space to hide himself behind the crowd.
The most amusing case was that of a very tall person adorned
with an exceedingly long, bright red beard, who had on a
Glengarry cap and a great shawl over his overcoat. The
instant this unfortunate person stepped into the arena a
general wild cry of "Scotland for ever!" was raised, followed
by such cheers and yells that the poor man actually staggered
back as if he had received a blow, then seeing there was no
other way out of it, he too rushed across the open space to
lose himself among the others.
All this proved very entertaining, and I was glad to laugh
with the crowd, thinking that after all we were taking a very
mild revenge on our hated enemies, the tyrants of the roads.
The fun over, I went soberly back to my village, and finding
it impossible to get to sleep I went to Sunday-morning service
at Shrewton Church. It was strangely restful there after that
noisy morning crowd at Stonehenge. The church is white stone
with Norman pillars and old oak beams laid over the roof
painted or distempered blue - a quiet, peaceful blue. There
was also a good deal of pleasing blue colour in the glass of
the east window. The service was, as I almost invariably find
it in a village church, beautiful and impressive. Listening
to the music of prayer and praise, with some natural outdoor
sound to fill up the pauses - the distant crow of a cock or
the song of some bird close by - a corn-bunting or wren or
hedge-sparrow - and the bright sunlight filling the interior, I
felt as much refreshed as if kind nature's sweet restorer,
balmy sleep, had visited me that morning. The sermon was
nothing to me; I scarcely heard it, but understood that it was
about the Incarnation and the perfection of the plan of
salvation and the unreasonableness of the Higher Criticism and
of all who doubt because they do not understand. I remembered
vaguely that on three successive Sundays in three village
churches in the wilds of Wiltshire I had heard sermons
preached on and against the Higher Criticism. I thought it
would have been better in this case if the priest had chosen
to preach on Stonehenge and had said that he devoutly wished
we were sun-worshippers, like the Persians, as well as
Christians; also that we were Buddhists, and worshippers of
our dead ancestors like the Chinese, and that we were pagans
and idolaters who bow down to sticks and stones, if all these
added cults would serve to make us more reverent. And I wish
he could have said that it was as irreligious to go to
Stonehenge, that ancient temple which man raised to the
unknown god thousands of years ago, to indulge in noise and
horseplay at the hour of sunrise, as it would be to go to
Salisbury Cathedral for such a purpose.
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Village and "The Stones"
My experiences at "The Stones" had left me with the idea that
but for the distracting company the hours I spent there would
have been very sweet and precious in spite of the cloud in the
east. Why then, I asked, not go back on another morning, when
I would have the whole place to myself? If a cloud did not
matter much it would matter still less that it was not the day
of the year when the red disc flames on the watcher's sight
directly over that outstanding stone and casts first a shadow
then a ray of light on the altar. In the end I did not say
good-bye to the village on that day, but settled down to
listen to the tales of my landlady, or rather to another
instalment of her life-story and to further chapters in the
domestic history of those five small villages in one. I had
already been listening to her every evening, and at odd times
during the day, for over a week, at first with interest, then
a little impatiently. I was impatient at being kept in, so to
speak. Out-of-doors the world was full of light and heat,
full of sounds of wild birds and fragrance of flowers and
new-mown hay; there were also delightful children and some
that were anything but delightful - dirty, ragged little
urchins of the slums. For even these small rustic villages
have their slums; and it was now the time when the young birds
were fluttering out of their nests - their hunger cries could
be heard everywhere; and the ragged little barbarians were
wild with excitement, chasing and stoning the flutterers to
slay them; or when they succeeded in capturing one without
first having broken its wings or legs it was to put it in a
dirty cage in a squalid cottage to see it perish miserably in
a day or two.
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