Red Horse Vale

Chapter 3

THREE

YORK, 2020 AD

“Hey, listen to this, Heather! I’ve found something of a mystery in the area we’re going to. You’re an archaeologist; this will interest you. What do you know about horse figures?”

“You mean white horses carved into the hillside exposing the chalk below? Well, there are fourteen of them in England. They’re called geoglyphs, and the oldest is near us in Oxfordshire.”

“The one at Uffington? How old is it?”

“It’s Iron Age, about 3000 years. But what’s this got to do with your mystery around here?”

“Are there any Saxon horses to your knowledge?”

“Not as far as I know because the Saxons didn’t worship the horse. Woden had an eight-legged steed called Sleipnir, but that’s about it.”

“I’m asking because in Warwickshire there used to be a red horse. In fact, it gave its name to the Red Horse Vale –around Tysoe. It no longer exists, but there’s been plenty of controversy about it over the years. I’ve made some notes. Listen to this: there was a large original horse, let me see…yes, here it is, it was 285 feet long and 195 feet high…”

“Quite a beast.”

“Yes, but the problem is that the underlying clay is fertile and weeds and grass can soon take over unless the figure is regularly scoured.”

“I see, though I think that’s less of a problem on chalk uplands. Although, I believe Thomas Hardy mentions festivities associated with the activity in Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Thomas Hughes dedicated an entire novel to it called The Scouring of the White Horse.”

“The fact is that this horse disappeared never to be seen again, but while it was there, it provoked considerable controversy.”

“It did?”

“Yes, you see…” Jake went on to explain the different theories of eighteenth-century antiquarians and ended by saying, “…I thought I might be able to solve the mystery once and for all using my retrocognition.”

“Once and for all? I doubt it, my love. Who’s going to take the word of a well-meaning psychic? In these cases, solid proof is needed. If, as you say, the horse is lost, there’s no proof it existed in the first place.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Heather.” How he enjoyed debunking her so-serious archaeological approach! He’d bring her own weapons to bear on the argument. “You see, two gentlemen called Kenneth Cardus and Graham Miller set out to find the horse in 1964. The former was given a map dated 1796, which showed the horse on the side of Old Lodge Hill. They conducted a preliminary excavation right there but drew a blank. Instead, they turned to documentary evidence that spoke of the horse on a hill called the Hangings. Really, that started the breakthrough because Miller took a photo using special filters across the valley to that hill, and owing to the dry weather, the pattern made by the shading of the vegetation revealed the shape of a head like a knight in a chess set. They got definitive confirmation from aerial photos taken in 1965.” He could see by her face he was speaking her language. “And measurements coincided with the eighteenth-century ones, so naturally, they decided to excavate.”

“What did they find?”

“In the autumn of 1967, they conducted a soil resistivity survey. You do know what that is, Heather?”

“Get lost, Jake!”

“Only teasing! But the probes revealed higher readings from the crop mark area than elsewhere. It confirmed the head and ears. As a control, they did an excavation that showed no visible alterations to the soil and no surface rock to cause changes in resistivity.”

Heather stared at her husband, and her voice was cutting, “I wonder whether they used high- or low-frequency meters? I suppose they used the Wenner 4-Point Test Set-up, didn’t they?” She gave him a thin smile as he floundered.

“I – er – I don’t think I made a note of any of that.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. So, when was the horse last seen?”

“It depends. You see, there have been five horses. The biggest and original, this one, didn’t survive much later than 1656, according to documentary records. The second horse was smaller and partially covered the first. The third and smallest, only 55 feet long, faces right, or to the south; it’s above and to the left of the first two. That was described by a certain Reverend Mead in 1742, the man who later insisted on the Earl of Warwick theory. I’ll tell you about that later. Maps of 1727 and 1798 confirm the presence of this horse.”

Heather was growing impatient with his ramblings through history. “So, where’s the mystery, Jake?”

“Haven’t you been listening? The irony of it is that this antiquarian gentleman was basing his chronology on a false horse.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he was wrong. His theory could be equally applied to the first horse.”

“It could. That’s why I want to find out and prove him wrong. I think the Saxons cut it first.”

“Pfff! You would!”

“You can mock as much as you like, but I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Heather didn’t really care either way, but she wanted to calm her excitable husband. “Didn’t you say there were five red horses? What about the other two?”

Mollified, he said, “The landlord of the Sun Rising Inn cut horse 4 sometime around 1800. It was small, about 17 feet long, and resembled a pantomime horse with human feet. It was little more than an inn sign. They deliberately ploughed it over in 1910.”

“And the last one?”

“That was mentioned by a man called Turner in 1892. This one was ten yards long and cut on Spring Hill a little to the south of the fourth. It was last recorded in 1914 and didn’t survive the Great War.”

“Why didn’t the archaeologists press for the re-cutting of the original horse?”

“From Mr Miller’s book, it seems they would have wanted that, but the landowner had planted the slope with softwood trees. Despite petitioning the Owner, Lord Bearstead, he was not keen to destroy nearly two acres of maturing wood. Today the site is little changed. The more mature trees prevent under growth of vegetation, and it is relatively easy to walk between them. Traces of the original excavations from 1968 can still be seen. The trees are not likely to be harvested for a year or two, yet. I don’t know how the new owner, Lord Bearstead’s grandson, feels about it. That’s something I’ll try to find out.”

“You’d better be careful. Landowners generally don’t like their property interfered with. Remember what happened when you got involved with Elfrid’s Hole in Ebberston? You were lucky to come out of that with only severe bruising.”

“That was different. As an archaeologist, you should understand this is about restoring our historic heritage.”

“I think this story is more about Jake Conley and his funny head!”

He glared at Heather. She could be infuriating, but before he could think of a reply, she asked, “What happened to your interest in Wootten Whatsit?”

“Wooten Wawen. I’m still very interested. I can conduct this investigation around my other plans.”

“Investigation! Oh dear, this Red Horse business is taking on a whole new dimension. And I’m not sure I like it.”