The persistent legends of secret passages into hollow hills invite links with the megalithic legacy of chambered tombs, because these are . . . well, secret passages into hollow hills. But would medieval, or Roman, or Iron Age people have shared that experience? Even today, after archaeological restoration has done its best, there are not many sites in England and Wales where a tunnel leads into the hill. Nine times out of ten the fate of a chambered tomb was to have its mound robbed and the capstones of the passage and side chambers slid away for building purposes. The original entrances had been covered not long after the disuse of the sites by earth slipping from the mound, so that it is fair to say that between 2500 BC and AD 1800 no-one in southern Britain had access to these ‘secret passages’.
This is not to suggest that the great mounds of the Neolithic were not venerated for long ages after their construction. It is just that none of the later worshippers had any idea what was inside them. At Newgrange a golden hoard of Roman workmanship was buried, and coins were offered, by strangers from outside the Irish world – presumably local people were also making gifts, but of more perishable things. All these offerings were made, however, around the standing stones before the tomb, while its decorated kerbstones and entrance passage remained hidden under earth until the mound was cleared in 1699.
There is a paradox here. As a physical object, Newgrange was, until 1699, a rather ragged looking hill with some stones at the foot of it, and to all appearances was no more hollow than Ben Bulben. But as an Otherworldly place, the Bru na Boinne, it was not only hollow inside but positively capacious, containing inter alia the Dagda, his son Oengus ind Oc, three fruit trees which were always in fruit, an inexhaustible cauldron, and three times fifty sons of kings. Moreover it contained these things as a hill, not as a tomb or gravemound. When dispossessed by the sons of Mil, the Tuatha De Danann went into the hills, or sidhe, becoming the People of the Hills, the Aes Sidhe. They did not die but transformed themselves into a invisible people.
Jeremy Harte seems to be re-stating his opinion that people in the past had no idea of the significance of ‘hollow’ hills as grave mounds – it was the hill in itself that was the subject of respect or worship. Of course, people may have known something of the significance of ‘hills’ such as Newgrange; even if only as a hazy folk-memory. So I’m not sure whether the continuation of this line of reasoning is adding anything new to my ideas.
What is worth thinking about, though, is the persistent idea that ‘special’ hills are larger on the inside than on the outside. The example given is Irish, which makes me a little wary as I don’t feel much connection with the West – indeed, my project is partly about the Northern/Germanic influences that (may) re-echo here. But the ‘capacious hill’ motif can be found in Scandinavian folktales like The Elfin Hill by Hans Christian Anderson, and it’s something I definitely want to explore in my own work.
I can see that Howe has to be rooted here in Norfolk – I can’t help that; it’s what draws me to wanting to do the project at all. Does that matter; does it sound too ‘local’ and narrow? If I’d been commissioned to make work based on a particular area or landscape feature, I wouldn’t have that anxiety. Hopefully, something about the work will resonate with others. But can I plan that in, or will it happen by itself, if it’s going to happen at all? I’m not sure, but at the same time I don’t think I have it in me to ‘get it right’ before I even begin…
It’s just going to be a case of seeing what happens, but I need some definite structures in place, and mustn’t let myself obsessively cut hill names from newspapers without having other areas of the work planned and hopefully started.
