Prehistoric Yorkshire
Jonas Holdsworth explores the monuments of our distant  ancestors
Photographs: Joe Nash

IN a field near Boroughbridge huge vertical stones rise mysteriously from the morning mist. On moors above Wharfedale strange fairy-rings of standing stones peer through the heather. Enormous boulders carved with still undeciphered symbols gaze down on the modern inhabitants of Ilkley. At Thornborough in the Vale of York titanic earth mounds form rings so big that passers-by would need an aeroplane to appreciate their shape and scale. In ancient barrows on the Yorkshire Wolds our distant ancestors sleep forever. Welcome to the world of Neolithic Yorkshire, an enchanted, ritual landscape far removed from our age of motorways and malls. Welcome to the Yorkshire of the Stone Age.

They did things differently in the ‘new’ Stone Age, or Neolithic times as the archaeologists call it. Several thousand years before Christ the place that would one day be Yorkshire had a relatively small and scattered population who had emerged from a hunter-gatherer lifestyle to take up settled agriculture and cattle rearing but with hunting still a vital part of life. The Bronze Age, when metallic tools revolutionised man’s life, still lay in the future. But these New Stone Age farmers, despite the harsh lives they led, were no fools. They had a sophisticated understanding of the earth that sustained them and the heavens that sent the sun and rain they needed. And this almost intuitive knowledge and appreciation led them to begin a tradition of constructing mighty monuments that even now fill us with wonder. Over hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, from the New Stone Age to the Bronze Age, the landscape of England was scattered with enigmatic standing stones, earthworks and other curious features, mute testimony to a vanished culture. In the south, Stonehenge is the greatest memorial to these distant forbears; in Yorkshire, our heritage from the remote past is no less impressive. In fact, our three Ridings contain some of the most important sites in England’s collection of prehistoric monuments. Yorkshire’s heritage in this area is truly second to none.

Take the vast ritual complex that is Thornborough Henge. Until recent years many people had never heard of it. Now the three great circular earthworks, connected by a series of earthbanks, has become widely recognised – not least by English Heritage who described it as the most important prehistoric site between Stonehenge and the Orkney Islands. Like Stonehenge itself, Thornborough Henge has been linked to astronomical observation. Indeed the three great earthworks seem to mirror the stars that make up Orion’s Belt as it rises in the night sky during autumn. Perhaps Thornborough was a great gathering point for Neolithic people at that time of year, assembled for purposes and rituals we can now only guess at. Archaeologists think the earthworks would have been covered in white gypsum, making them shine like beacons in the landscape. The epic proportions of the ditches and banks, 12 times as large as those at Stonehenge, create an astounding amphitheatre where ancient people doubtless affirmed their spiritual togetherness. It is a sobering thought that this vast monument to Yorkshire’s Neolithic past has in recent years been under threat from quarrying. We can only hope it survives intact to intrigue and inspire generations to come.

Not far from Thornborough stand the Devil’s Arrows, three mighty standing stones (or menhirs) that adorn a field next to the A1 at Boroughbridge. A legend tells that Old Nick himself, wishing to destroy the township of Aldborough, threw these enormous stone missiles but not judging the distance right nearly devastated Boroughbridge instead. Centuries of rainfall have produced a curious grooving effect in the arrows which now suggests a certain aerodynamic quality. In reality they date from our prehistoric ancestors and might be linked in some way with Thornborough Henge. Archaeologists suggest that five stones originally stood here and that they might be aligned with the southernmost summer moonrise. At 22 ft 6 inches the tallest of them is impressive indeed.

However, it cannot match the 25 ft tall Rudston Monolith which dominates the churchyard at Rudston in the East Riding. This massive stone, with probably as much beneath the surface as on top of it, has been a puzzle for centuries. Back in the 18th century skulls were turned up next to the monolith, ominously suggesting a sacrificial site of some sort. The church next to the stone was probably built there as an attempt by the early church to ‘Christianise’ this old pagan venue. But the task of superimposing Christian beliefs on a remote area where older beliefs prevailed must have been a daunting one.

Not far from Rudston, in a landscape scattered with Neolithic remains, lies the Danes Dyke, one of the most baffling of all Yorkshire’s relics of the distant past. This is a massive ditch and bank earthwork, no doubt built for defensive purposes, which completely cuts off the Flamborough peninsula from the surrounding countryside. Nowadays, it forms part of a charming nature reserve, with paths laid out through its woodland covering. But for historians it is a riddle, dividing them as they try to fix some approximate date of construction to it. Some say it is like an Iron Age fort, not old enough to date to the distant Neolithic period, having its origins in the era just before the Romans arrived here. Others say it is a remnant of the much more recent Viking age, as its name might suggest. But excavations in Victorian times threw up hundreds of prehistoric flint artefacts, including axes and arrow heads, suggesting that the culture that first created this phenomenal piece of engineering was similar to that which gave us Thornborough Henge and the Devil’s Arrows. What is certain is that this imprint of our ancestors still dominates the landscape as it has done for centuries. As is usual in Neolithic Yorkshire, for every question answered another dozen mysteries remain tantalisingly unsolved. The Danes Dyke is one of them.

Ilkley Moor is another site of puzzles and riddles. To modern Yorkshiremen it is a kind of spiritual centre of the county, thanks to the famous anthem. But to prehistoric man Ilkely Moor too was a truly magical place. The boulders of the moor are covered in cup-and-ring marks, ancient carvings that have long intrigued archaeologists. They date from the late Neolithic period and defy any credible explanation.  Cups are the holes engraved into the rock by sharp stones or antlers, while rings are the circular grooves which sometimes enclose them. Some of the larger boulders are sprinkled with complex patterns of cups and rings, while more obscure boulders sometimes have single examples. Overlooking the town of Ilkley itself is the amazing Swastika Stone, a flat slab on which the outline of a curved and attractive ‘swastika’ shape is beautifully preserved. To our modern age, this has terrible connotations. But all over the world it has long been symbolic of the sun, the great giver of warmth and light. Perhaps the astronomical purposes of places such as Thornborough Henge have been repeated here at Ilkley. The nearby stone circle, the Twelve Apostles, is another of Ilkley Moor’s Neolithic jewels, confirming this special place as part of the enchanted landscape of Stone Age man.

The Wolds of the East Riding were probably the most enchanted landscape of all. Here the countryside is littered with round barrows, great circular burial mounds or ‘tumuli’ such as the impressive landmark known as Duggleby Howe. The word ‘howe’ is a Viking term for a small round hill, but this man-made eminence far predates the Vikings. Neolithic man created a burial site here, with bodies carefully interred, before 5,000 tons of chalk and soil were heaped on top. Excavations have discovered skeletons buried with specially chosen objects including flint arrow-heads, a hammer-head made from a deer antler and polished flint axes. It has been suggested that barrows such as Duggleby Howe are not scattered randomly across the landscape, but rather are arranged to represent various constellations in the night sky. What belief systems caused our distant ancestors to bury their dead in this way? Did they believe the spirits of their loved ones would rise to the heavens, and dwell among the various stars and constellations? Or did they hope that they would one day rise again, resurrected to once more set out with flint arrows and axes to hunt for deer across the rolling Wolds? Duggleby Howe sets our imaginations racing with such questions. But, as with Thornborough Henge and the Devil’s Arrows, The Twelve Apostles and the Swastika Stone, answers are not easily found. Neolithic Yorkshire, the ritual landscape of our far-flung ancestors, remains a tantalising riddle.