#PrayForPlymouth

Photo credit: BBC Radio Devon

Time waits for no man

If it's July then it must be Wimbledon (well, except last year!) and on my Wednesday off work, I settled down to watch the quarterfinal between Roger Federer and Hubert Hurkacz, on Center Court.  Not the festival of tennis I was hoping for, it was over as quickly as it begun, Hurkacz demolishing the Swiss superstar in three sets - including a six-love wipe-out in the third.  You have to say that on the day, Hurkacz was as brilliant and Federer was poor.

Game, set, match Hurkacz, and as the Pole soaked up the deserved applause of the Wimbledon crowd, Roger Federer left Centre Court, the cameras just catching a glimpse of him raising his hand to his eyes as he rounded the corner towards his dressing room.  If he was about to shed a tear, it's understandable - the stress and emotion put into a match at such a high level must be huge, and is amplified in singles tennis, where everything is on you to perform.

But perhaps there was another reason for Federer's emotional exit, and Centre Court felt it too.  It felt it when, at 5-0 down in the third set and serving for his life, the crowd erupted into a spontaneous standing ovation for the great player, as if they knew that they would never see him grace the turf again.  You see, even a great player like Federer is unable to halt the march of time.  It's a sad reality that we all have to face, aging, and for me the sadness of watching Fed's straight sets exit hit home not just for him, but because it made me consider my life too.  I realised that I watched Federer lift his first Wimbledon title in 2003, the year I started university - and so with an acknowledgement that he's getting old, I also realise that I'm getting old too, and that the end of the Federer era also marks an end of an era for me, as we both segue into middle age.  Change has been in the air for a while now for me, punctuated in a single moment when a midwife passed me my new baby, and I stepped very quickly into a different bracket of life.

I'll be sad to hear that Federer has retired, sad not to see him float across the Centre Court grass for years to come, and yet if he comes to that decision this summer, I certainly think it's the right one.  He is, in my opinion, the greatest single sportsman of my lifetime - not only ridiculously talented in his sport, but so respectful of the game, a great winner, a good loser, generous towards his opposition, welcoming to the fans, and without any of the petulance of some others.  Maybe that's another reason to be tinged with sadness at his inevitable decline - he's a one-of-a-kind embodiment of sportsmanship, of which we all need to see much more. 

Great Ocean Road running challenge - mission accomplished!

Last night I had the strangest dream

I sailed away to China

In a little rowboat to find ya

And you said you had to get your laundry clean

Didn't want no one to hold you, what does that mean?

And you said:

Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride

Nobody gonna slow me down

Oh no! I got to keep on moving

Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride

I'm runnin' and I won't touch ground

Oh no! I got to keep on moving

You're on a roll and now you pray it lasts

The road behind was rocky

But now you're feeling cocky

You look at me and you see in your past

Is that the reason why you're runnin' so fast?

And she said:

Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride

Nobody gonna slow me down

Oh no! I got to keep on moving

Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride

I'm runnin' and I won't touch ground

Oh no! I got to keep on moving

(Never let another girl like you)

Work me over

(Never let another girl like you)

Drag me under

(If I meet another girl like you)

I will tell her

(Never want another girl like you)

Have to say, oh!

Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride

Nobody gonna slow me down

Oh no! I got to keep on moving

Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride

I'm runnin' and I won't touch ground

Oh no! I got to keep on moving

Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride

Nobody gonna slow me down

Oh no! I got to keep on moving

Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride

I'm runnin' and I won't touch ground

Oh no! I got to keep on moving.

Great Ocean Road running challenge - Port Campbell to Nirranda

I've reached Port Campbell, some 117 miles into my epic journey.  Port Campbell was settled in the 1870s, and named after Captain Alexander Campbell, a whaler and colonist.  Today it is described as "a colourful and lively seaside village, home to plenty of vibrant shops and galleries to explore, with an atmosphere of a safe haven on the edge of wild nature".  To get here, I've had to run past the Loch Ard Gorge, named after a three-masted clipper built in 1873 (which itself was named after the Scottish lake Loch Ard.)  The ship left for Australia in 1878 with a cargo full of luxury items, reaching the Australian coast after a three month voyage.  Sailing into thick fog, the Captain came in far too close to the coastline, becoming yet another ship to hit the reef and break apart in these waters.  Of the 37 crew and 17 passengers, there were only two survivors (Tom Pearce and Eva Carmichael), alongside a porcelain peacock model that amazingly survived intact ,and is now on display at the Flagstaff Maritime Museum in Warnambool - it is estimated that the model has a value of around AUD$4,000,000. 

Loch Ard Gorge

From this disaster, the gorge gets its name, as the cliffs on each side provide a lookout over the shipwreck site.  From here one can see Mutton Bird Island, which hosts some 12,000 mutton birds through the Australian spring and summer.  a short walk from the gorge is the Tom and Eva lookout, which once looked over the Island Arch limestone rock formation, until its collapse in 2009.  Now only two large pillars remain, which have been appropriately named Tom and Eva.

Beyond Port Campbell, I pass a series of natural rock formations, including London Bridge, a stunning natural promontory which spectacularly collapsed in 1990, leaving a chunk of land isolated in the ocean.  Two unfortunate tourists where on the far side of the land when it collapsed, and had to wait hours for a helicopter rescue.  Juicy rumours then began to circulate in the press that the couple of strandees were actually conducting an affair in this isolated spot, and that the collapse of the land blew their cover in explosive style.  This stretch of coastline is also home to a feature known as The Grotto, a sinkhole, cave and archway rolled into one.  I like the sound of the Grotto - from sea-level, you can look straight through the archway and observe the calm, clear waters of the rock pools, in complete contrast to the crashing ocean waves sitting just behind.

London Bridge

The Grotto

Moving on ever westwards, I run through the fishing and holiday village of Peterborough, before reaching the Bay of Islands, a 20-mile stretch of coastline offering astounding ocean views, where the Southern Ocean has carved spectacular rock stacks and sheltered bays.  Here, I'm in an Aboriginal cultural landscape, where age-old traditions are still practiced, and the community's strong connection to the land and water is maintained.  This part of the coastline is also home to the rare black-faced cormorant, as well as some unusual flora, such as the sun orchid and spider orchid.

The Bay of Islands

I finally crawl into the tiny settlement of Nirranda, a mere 15 miles from my finish line.  In the course of my virtual run, I've achieved a sense of what this stretch of coastline is all about - it speaks loudly of the power of nature and the sheer force of the Southern Ocean, be it through its easy ability to down ships on a whim, or to erode mighty cliffs into dust.  Living here - be you human, plant or animal - requires a certain amount of tenacity, perseverance, and a will to keep going.  In this sense, I feel like this matches my own resolve to run this challenge, to hop upon the treadmill day-after-day, each time chipping off a little piece of my total - it's almost as if the challenge is the Australian coastline, and my trainers are the ocean.  That's certainly my mindset as I head into my last week, knowing that with each passing mile, a mighty chunk of the remaining road falls away.  I've got to complete this run by Saturday 26 June, at which point I'm going to raise a beer and have my own virtual party - see you all in Allansford!

The Archaeology Files - Hod Hill

Date of visit: 1 March 2020
Location: 3 miles north west of Blandford Forum, Dorset
Time period: Iron Age, c.800 BC to AD 43 (incorporating later Roman fortifications)
Type of site: Iron Age hillfort with Roman earthwork remains
Photos: Hod Hill site visit photo album 

Hod Hill sits, like its twin hillfort Hambledon Hill, in the peaceful Dorset countryside, commanding a significant vista over its immediate hinterland.  On first impressions, the hill must be high, for it is an exasperating climb to its 68-metre (223 feet) summit, made all-the-harder by thick, deep mud, which clings to your boots, and makes each step a struggle.  I've come here on an early March day, following on from a tremendously wet winter, and many of the surrounding fields are flooded.  Of course, weather like this would not have bothered the original inhabitants of the hillfort, who would have had little need to regularly traverse the steep slopes, but for the amateur archaeologist and enthusiastic visitor, the earthen trackway leading up to the hillfort entrance makes for a perilous expedition.

Aerial photo of Hod Hill, showing the extent of the Roman fort in the north west corner of the hillfort

The literature will tell you that Hod Hill, at 22 hectares, is the largest hillfort in Dorset.  I suppose they've done the maths on this, but I can't say it feels anywhere near the size of Maiden Castle, as I trudge across its sheep-filled interior.  Maybe it's because the site is more square in shape, making up in width what it lacks in length, compared to its famous Dorchester sister.  Hod Hill follows the general trend of all hillforts, being occupied by the fifth century BC (possibly earlier) and growing in population so that by the first century BC, its interior would have been covered by possibly hundreds of round huts, laid out in a rudimentary grid system.  Here lived people of the Durotrige tribe, who inhabited what we now call Dorset and were, in my opinion, Britain's master hillfort builders.  There are some mighty earth ramparts around the perimeter of this hillfort, which given the elevation of the site, is perhaps surprising, and suggests a paranoia amongst the population - which, to be fair, turned out to be entirely justified.  I'm not going to discount the idea that some of the purpose of the ramparts was to discourage livestock from escaping - the steep hill here would make it very difficult and time-consuming to recapture escaped animals.

Hod Hill - external ditch and ramparts

Most hillforts appear to have been abandoned before the Roman invasion of AD 43, but at Hod Hill there is evidence of some resistance to the Roman Army, where eleven Roman ballista bolts have been recovered, apparently trained on one high-status round house, which is sometimes known as the "Chieftain's hut".  It brings an uneasy feeling to mind, for here at Hod is the real impact of the Roman invasion, at least for those who resisted the invading force - men, woman, children and families doing their best to defend themselves and their home against a vastly superior military force which, after all, appeared on these shores without invitation.  So far, no evidence has been discovered for a big massacre at Hod Hill, but archaeological investigation does show that there was a rapid abandonment of round houses when the Romans arrived - so perhaps the population surrendered and were allowed to leave, but only in a hurry.

So if this is the case, why were they made to leave so quickly?  It was the responsibility of the Roman Legio II Augusta, under the control of the future Emperor Vespasian, to pacify the Durotriges and seize the hillforts in this part of the country.  After Hod Hill was pacified and its occupants removed, the legion saw in the site an excellent strategic point, most likely due to its proximity to the River Stour, a trading route and potential military supply line.  Consequentially, a fort was built within the parameter of the hillfort, centred on the north west corner of the site, to house a Legionary cohort (of around 500 men) and cavalry detachment (about 250 men - but imagine getting horses up-and-down this hill.)  What makes this particularly fascinating is that the earthworks associated with the Roman fort still survive very clearly, especially in aerial photographs - although I found the site harder to interpret on the ground.  As it happens, the Legionary cohort didn't stay here very long, abandoning the site in AD 51 as military priorities changed, and Legio II Augusta turned its sights further west, to the Dumnonii tribe, whose capital sat at what we now call Exeter.

View from within the Roman section of the hillfort, looking east towards the Roman fortification - see below for photo location 

Plan of Hod Hill showing location of above photo (source: British History online)

At Hod Hill, the Durotriges left behind one of the iconic archaeological sites in the landscape of the south west.  I talk fairly frequently about the atmosphere you can sometimes perceive in ancient places, and Hod Hill is another one of these.  On my visit, the weather rolled in quickly, dusk took an early turn, and it started to rain when I was at the farthest and most exposed part of the hillfort.  It felt eerie and almost uncomfortable at that point, like a sudden bout of agoraphobia, mixed with a general perception that I was on foreign ground, somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.  Maybe it's just because I was the only person up there, or perhaps the weight of ancientness and history somehow got inside of me, but once I felt it, I was fairly quick to leave.  Regardless of this, Hod Hill is a unique place, and having the chance to explore the site has fulfilled a longing that's been smouldered in me for many years.