England Day 8: a Temple Fit For Four Druids

Photo edit by my friend Martha

“One misty moisty morning as I walked through the heather…” as the Steeleye Span song goes. The eighth morning of my November England trip dawned grey and fog-laden. Our destination was a particular Regency folly outside Ilton in Yorkshire. Known as the Druid’s Temple, it was one of only three or four specific destinations I requested on the trip, as I’d seen my friends’ photos from past visits and was smitten.

To get there, we had to travel the Yorkshire Dales, and while I desperately tried to snap photos of the endless stunning vignettes out the window, the majority were failures, and I will have to simply file away the beauty in my memories, for my eyes only. The heather on the moors was a deep rusty red, and the trees by the narrow roads were a fire of autumn color. Hand written signs written by farmers requested we “slow down ewes and lambs.” It sounded half like a stranger’s request and half like fatherly concern for our safety. 

Finally after a long and narrow twisty winding journey we arrived at the folly. And the moment we got out of the car I realized that this would be the coldest weather day of the trip thus far. It was the first day I could see my breath in the frost tipped air, and the wind blew bitter cold. We set off for the stone temple down a very muddy path, and around a corner was the temple. It was so surreal to see it in person after looking at so many photos of it online. The Druid’s Temple is a Regency era folly, not an actual ancient structure. And though it has a beauty of its own and a magic due to the way it was crafted to honor nature and beauty, it was still amusing to hear an American tourist go on about how he could “feel the ancient energy” of the stones. Oh dear.

There were quite a few cars in the car park, but somehow not that many people at the folly. When we entered the stone structure, the wind was blocked enough to make the temperatures a bit more tolerable. We had the far end to ourselves for quite some time, and were able to take pictures in the “hermit’s cave” and on the “sacrificial table.” When we were done, we moved to the center and took pictures among the stones there too. 

All of the darker and higher quality images were taken by Bryony, as usual!!

I loooove this photo of Bryony emerging from the Hermit’s Cave.

Gilly and I sharing the warmth of her veryvery cosy wool cloak in the rain.

I love these group photos we took at the throne in the center.

And Fiend looks so natural as a Priestess in some fantasy story.

But by this time, the rain had started to fall in earnest, the first real bad weather of the trip. Our fingers were turning red and numb, so we gathered our wooden dagger and staffs and chalice and baskets and cloaks and headed off to the cafe, where we huddled by the wood stove and drank sugar-rich coffee and hot cocoa. 

We decided to drop the props at our cars and go back one more time to see the rest of the stone structures outside of the main folly. As we walked along in the wind and rain, shoes squelching in the mud, I joked that someone should create goblin ASMR, and we started brainstorming what would be involved. (Squelching mud, sniffling noses, dripping rain, toad noises, an occasional fart.) The outer stone piles were lovely and I’m glad we saw them, but the best part was the company. 

Gilly won the dad joke of the day award when she stood at a rock assemblage and struck a pose, saying “look at me! I’m a dolmenatrix!”

We shuffled back to our cars and said our goodbyes. And in the growing dark, we drove off. And then…oh then, poor Bryony began earning her merit badge of brave driving heroism. The rain was falling, and when we got to the moors, the fog was suddenly so extremely thick, you couldn’t see the road beyond five feet in front of the headlights. It became an incredibly eerie sight, and honestly rather magical despite the tension of the moment. It really makes you see why there are stories of those who get lost in the mists of the moors. 

Bryony’s car mirror on her driving side has a light that comes on when something is in proximity to the side of the car, and as we slowly drove through the mist, it kept flickering on and off. It really felt like some fey creature, perhaps a barghest, was drifting alongside us, deciding whether to lead us astray or let us pass. One of the eeriest experiences in recent memory. 

But we did make our way home, peeled off our sodden clothes, put on fuzzy warm cosy togs, and sat down by the fire to eat a delicious vegan Sunday roast Bryony’s husband Bruce made while we were gone. Oh my goodness it was so hearty and comforting and I want another bowl right now just remembering it.

And that was the whole of day eight! We spent it playing dress up, as everyone should be permitted to do at any age. The next day we would be going to York, but the rain at the folly would be shifting overnight into a storm so wicked, she even had a name: Storm Debbie. It wouldn’t deter us though, and York was one of my favorite days of the trip. Stay tuned!!