I am writing to report a crime of the most grievous nature. I have read this newspaper for the last two years and have never seen a mention, let alone an article, on that most grand monolith the iron age hillfort. The iron age hillfort may simply look like a heap of bygone things, but this form shall remain when all the grandeur of man has toppled. This giant of an older time calls to a primordial god now forever forgotten and forsaken.
On this crest heaven and earth meet, transforming primitive savagery into barbarian splendour: at this illuminated zenith at last one understands why this place was chosen by our chalcolithic ancestors to stand against the foe of both man and nature.
The nakedness of the hill is all but exposed, except for the small copse of trees huddled against its side cursing the warmth for which they hunger. Upon its ridge are the dual remains of a Neolithic settlement and Bronze Age tombs which give a physicality to these Halstattian men.
An earthy silence hangs upon this place, filled with the muffled foot-steps of a lost age, the tumuli of tombs lend a touch of melancholy that any past marked prospect lends, the tears of the long dead kings now water the verdure that hides their final peace. The cruel hand of time has stripped that once proud people yet the indefatigable crawling of nature has transformed melancholic history to faded folklore.
Therefore, Mr. Editor, do not neglect the murmurings of the past and listen to this unnamed and unloved camp which through out the ages of a people worth remembering.
Mr Thomas Vare