Dearest Emily,
It is with the utmost urgency that I write to you now my love; for I fear we must practice the greatest of caution if we are to emerge unscathed from our most recent expedition.
Even in those unfortunate weather conditions, we knew as we crossed the magnificent apple green rolling hills and carefully climbed the towering forest trails, pristine pines pointing tirelessly towards the dreary grey expanse above, we were headed on no ordinary adventure. It appears that recent exploration of ours has drawn the attention of an undesirable influence. A villainous entity so ancient and despicable I fear we may all be in grave danger.
Do you recall the adventure of which I speak my darling? I am sure you must. The day had begun so delightfully. As with many of our spontaneous exploits, we found ourselves plotting a course through the wilds of Kentish countryside, all on a hunch and a vague clue upon a curious map.
Venturing along the A21, we came off the chaotic carriageway and descended onto a subtle swerving side road towards our destined starting point. It took a little while to find the specific pathway required, well disguised amongst the gated greenery of the great outdoors. We mused lovingly about abandoning the vehicle and trapesing out into the unknown, losing ourselves in those immaculate open voids of natural magnificence. Little did we know our adventure would soon follow in the footsteps of nomads from millennia past, each on their own unique journey, each stalked by the same fearsome foe?
Parking possibilities were not immediately obvious, but eventually we found a suitable space for our chariot of choice and unloaded the expedition gear. With a final survey of the scenery, we were ready. Bramble was quick to sniff out our surroundings, only a little distracted by the occasional deer visible through the trees and the brave road roving rabbits. With backpacks loaded, provisions purchased and boots firmly buckled, we made our way along the winding path towards the gloomy looking forest beyond.
Oh my love, do you remember how we enjoyed that early momentum, our minds high on the delectable spirit of fresh air and gentle exercise. The prospect of unknown treasures at journeys end spurring us on? We skirted the outer limits of the mysterious woods, occasionally swooping into areas not yet consumed by the canopy of deciduous darkness; it was as if we had stepped into some fairy tale. A late blanket of orange and red leaves covered the floor like a seamless carpet of flames. Small ponds and mirror like pools collected in intriguing hollows, rippled only by the occasional voyage of foraging fowl. Spectacular flora and fauna thrived, magic hung in the air promising to dispense further gifts to the endless ecosystems in play. We could not help but smile as the trail led us this way and that through the tangled trees and luscious fields, babbling streams and earthy hollow ways.
It remained this way until we reached the first of two dwellings along our desired route. At first, the farm appeared to be a tricky hurdle, an integral modern machine of human endeavour, plonked in the middle of this pristine landscape vision. Our eyes, so elated by the wonders of natural beauty fell slightly scorn to this human habitation, but had a working farm not been attached to this environment, we realised such a landscape may now be buried beneath the ruinous rows of cramped concrete clone housing, so rife throughout our ever shrinking island.
The trail faded as we passed through the farm, and despite the best efforts of landowners, the poor weather conditions of late created an ever-threatening sinking swamp. Layers of earth became precarious mountains and bottomless lakes as we battled to plough through the troublesome barricade and retrace our path. Fortunately, there were enough clear landmarks available to reconnect with our mysterious map, and with a little effort, we avoided the worst of the swamp-like situation, were able to circumnavigate a significant body of water and begin winding our way upwards into the forested hills beyond.
Before the triumphant trees arose on either side of our snaking pathway, we found the earth littered with the remnants of battle. Shot and clay in fragments on the forest floor harked to the entertaining battles of leisurely pursuit fought in these very fields. Caution is recommended for those who may pass this way after us. Keep a keen eye on proposed clay pigeon events and an ear to the skies if like us, your actions were of a spontaneous nature.
My love, as you gazed into my eyes and reminded me whilst on our adventurous ramble, despite the foreboding cloud cover the forest trails were every bit as wondrous as we had hoped, twisting their way through the labyrinth of woodland, darting off in all attainable directions. The palette of luscious greens and browns, reds and yellows were a perfect contrast to the deep dull grey gloom of the heavens above. At each encountered crossroads, every potential avenue appeared as enticing as the next. We made our way according to the map, our hopeful target drawing nearer. Climbing to the summit of the hill, the woodland encircled its peak like a natural crown, its residents rejoicing in an amphitheatre of gleeful birdsong.
Now the sky rumbled menacingly above. My mind was drawn to certain ancient horrors I had read of the area. A 13th century manuscript contained a tale from Ralph of Coggeshall, relating a night in June 1205 AD when thunder and lightning roared across all of England. A strange monster was struck by lightning that evening, in the Kent countryside not far from here. The mysterious creature was said to have the head of an ass, body of a man and the limbs of some other grotesque beast. Did they ever find this foul fiend, my love, or does it roam the Kent countryside still?
We powered through the final furlong of forested furrows and crested the hill. How we enjoyed our dear Audrey giggling joyously as we reached that intriguing position on the map, the source of which had brought us out on this stormy afternoon adventure. Through the mist and increasing drizzle, we spied our ultimate goal, Castle Hill Fort.
We emerged in open fields, fresh barley shoots spiked the ground, a million tiny green soldiers silently lining up for some unspoken war. It became immediately obvious that not all of the earth upon this hill was natural in form. Deep scars encircled the areas not yet fully affected by centuries under the plough. This hilltop, a challenge to conquer, wore its history as a warrior wore paint upon their face. Millennia of mortals had left the mark of their labour and here it remained, buried and hidden but survived.
In strange contrast to these ancient earthworks, two modern spires rose above the trees and into the angry grey skies. Masts for telecommunication perhaps, certainly a modern manifestation of our connection obsessions. The very tip of each metal monster glowed bright red. You described them that day as two evil red eyes staring down from the endless domed ceiling of drab darkness above. Here again my mind was transported. Do you recall I mentioned the recent fanciful stories connected with the Beast of Tunbridge Wells, spotted during the Second World War by an elderly couple and frequently witnessed since? A beastly, hairy giant of a creature stalking the Tunbridge Wells wilds, with eyes as red as blood. With my wild imaginations spurred by our sensational situation I asked, could all these monsters be somehow connected?
I am eternally grateful for the invaluable information you sent my love, the excavation report of this fascinating site was incredibly enlightening. It seems the two hillforts upon Castle Hill were excavated during the summers between 1969 and 1971. The late S E Winbolt, who was under the impression there was only a single hillfort, had conducted earlier work in 1929. It was not until aerial photography was utilised that this mistake was understood and early plans of this ancient monument were revised. The fortifications on the arable segment of land have been largely ploughed out, but evidence remains intact in the forested areas.
This particular position in the landscape was an important aspect of high ground, 400 feet above sea level, controlling a northwest to southeast route to the river at Tonbridge, a frequent crossing point of the magnificent Medway. British Museum radiocarbon dates of charcoal at the site indicate the forts were in use between 315 – 228BC. The earlier of the two forts appears to have suffered a fiery destruction, though it is unclear whether this was an accidental or deliberate action. The volume of burnt timbers suggest a dramatic and sudden event. This first fort was subsequently abandoned and a second soon occupied.
Archaeologists argued the residents of these fortifications were probably farmers or peasants, protecting themselves from unclear outside threats, perhaps Belgic invaders, early Roman influence or rival neighbouring tribes, or something altogether more ghastly. They utilised the forested landscape and built oak palisades and revetting fences along the ramparts. The main outer rampart of the first fort was 30 feet wide and 12 feet deep, the inner rampart 15-18 feet wide. Inside the rampart from an entrance to the east, the surface was cobbled with ironstone.
The excavation reports being nearly half a century old, lacked some of our modern scientific advances and academic understandings, but most of all, lacked detail on the alluded finds of earlier excavations. I had learned of ancient artefacts discovered during the exciting antiquarian excavations, but try as I might, I could not locate the whereabouts of these enchanting trinkets. My darling, I decided to follow up on these intriguing discoveries. I asked around at local establishments for information, expecting to be regaled with tales of history and legend from an area brimming with both. I was met only with caution and suspicion.
An article from several years back claimed the items were held at a local Library, but upon further investigation I was told with stubborn seriousness, the items had never been in that place. Other reports claimed the items resided in a museum, but I was met with the same curious denial in this establishment. Whilst more recent discoveries from the site are held here, the original treasures remained aloof. Even in the local watering hole, as I offered casual conversation searching for accidental answers, I found nothing but hushed whispers and angry glances. I began to fear there may be more to this than we could have possibly imagined.
The only new thread in this tapestry of intrigue came from a boozy conversation with a quaint old Kentish fellow. He narrated an ancient legend passed faithfully from local family to family. Usually a bewitching bedtime story or tale to keep troublesome children under control, it appears an archaic Celtic legend was connected to the Iron Age anomalies of the area. The legend refers to that famed God of the Formors, ruler of chaos and old night, Balor.
Balor was cursed with an evil eye, a weapon so powerful that anything within its gaze would wither and burn. Legend claimed it required seven covers to control the eye. During war, brave men would lift the covers with hooks so Balor could annihilate his enemies with merely a glance. It seems that following Balor’s demise, the evil eye was forcibly removed from his skull, so it could never again be used as a weapon. It was destined to be guarded at Castle Hill. Upon arrival, the still scorching eye reduced the first fort to flame and ash, forcing the construction of a secondary structure to imprison this terrible charm.
I found my wild fantasies stirred once more, what had they discovered in those early excavations? I enquired into the elusive artefacts but found only a solidarity of silence in reply. Did Balor still stalk these placid parts, ever searching for that demonic stolen eye of his? Yet I found no answers, the people of this place are protective of their beast it seems, or fearful?
Well my darling, you must recall the final phase of our turbulent trek, as we made our way from the fantastic fortresses with the early evening sunlight diminishing rapidly, we hoped to acquire a simpler route to our lonely carriage home. We took an alternate track as indicated on our map and reached the second dwelling encountered on this adventure. It soon became apparent this direction held no favour for our final flight. The expected trail was overgrown and impassable, barbed wire brambles and suffocated stinging pathways blocked our only exit away from the farm. We cautiously continued towards the road via the supposed safety of the side street but to our immense horror, none other than the beast barred our way! Its roar terrifying, its speed intense and its face ferocious, we did not hang around! Bramble did her best to face off the fearsome creature but our only true option was retreat, which we applied at great speed. Thankfully, it seemed to be enough. The echoes of horrifying howls trailed off behind us and we finally breathed freely. Retracing our steps, we found the footprints of our previous path. Had we just encountered the spectre of Balor in all his terrible fury? Who could say, but it was enough to facilitate the folds of fear in our little family.
Now my dearest Emily, I am afraid the beast may have discovered something more on that hilltop, for sightings of this creature have been frequent of late, drawing ever closer to our regular haunts. Dark have been my thoughts, always ending upon that evil eye.
Though we found our way safely through the stunning landscape on that weather beaten weekend, I beg of you now to practice extreme caution in the coming months. The eye of Balor is said to be most deadly and defensive at this time of year, as the Kingdom of Spring defeats the Winter warriors to reclaim the earth in the name of life.
Perhaps we will uncover the whereabouts of those compelling curios discovered deep beneath the Castle Hill earth. However, if the legends are to be believed, it may be safer for the island if they remain hidden. Beyond the mystery and magic, the history and horror, this corner of Kentish countryside is a gem tucked away from the throngs of tourism and the monstrous consumption of modern urbanism. I hope one day we might return my love, and learn more about the mysteries of Castle Hill, but whilst the beast still roams, I pray we study from afar.
Take care my love; I count the days until I am returned to your loving arms.
With all my undying love
Craig xx
