Of Stonehenge, Americans, and Space Aliens by Jason Offutt

Hills covered in fields of flowering yellow rapeseed flanked by lines of deep green trees rise and fall toward the horizon in every direction. As the bus drove outside London, fields cut only by hedgerows, the occasional stream, and the motorway began to dominate the landscape. Thatched-roof chocolate-box houses occasionally appear on the roadside the farther we get from the city, although these houses were few. Most country homes, especially those in the small towns along our way, are red brick with tiled roofs, thatch being a thing of the past. Big square pubs with locals sitting at tables outside for a lunchtime pint featured prominently in these towns. If I was going to be on this bus another minute, I was going to need to stop at one.

Then, the bus popped over a hill, and I saw our destination.

Stonehenge.

Built in prehistoric England by… well, despite what archeologists tell us, no one knows who built this 108-foot circle of 10- to 26-foot high stones that range from 1.5 to more than 150 tons (tonnes) each.* And, more puzzling, no one knows why, or even how they built it. A number of these volcanic bluestones were moved to the area from a spot in Wales 160 miles away.

I’ve wanted to see Stonehenge since I first read about it in second grade, and here it was right outside the vehicle’s window, growing larger with each moment. My first words after all these decades of anticipation were, “Holy shit.”

Forgive me, I’m American; we lack subtlety.

“Aliens,” an American college student in the seat next to me, said loudly enough for half the bus to hear. “I’m going to ask questions about aliens.”

If space aliens had anything to do with Stonehenge (which means hanging stone), they were really bad at playing Jenga. Hmm. Space aliens actually made a bit more sense than the thought of primitive man cutting, then dragging 150-tonne stones 160 miles, and arranging them in a circle to line up with the stars of the midwinter solstice. Work on this megalithic structure began 5,000 years ago; the only Caterpillars at that time weren’t used at construction sites, they turned into butterflies.

Aliens? Yeah, I’m fine with that.

“Those stones rock,” the student said. A few girls on the bus giggled.

The queue to the entrance stretched back to the public restrooms (loos) by the parking lot, a sidewalk sign advertising the Stonehenge Café: “Hot food. Beef and Vegetable Pasty, Cheese and Onion Slice, Sausage Roll.” I know historical spots have to make money to stay open, but the food selection just seemed wrong. The Stonehenge Café? They should have sold Bronto Burgers, or those ribs that knocked over Fred Flintstone’s car. Anything other than pasties.

As I stood by the sign, a slight honk moved the line off a handicapped parking spot. While driving, the British don’t yell, and they don’t give anyone the finger; they’re too polite for that. They do, however, honk. A lot. A little blue car pulled into the spot, and a middle-aged woman stepped out. After a few minutes, I noticed everyone staring at her. The woman had donned a deep blue cloak and a crown of woven flowers. Holding a staff topped with a carved wooden goat’s head, she walked through the crowd and toward the entrance.

“She’s a witch,” someone said.

I nodded. “I know. We’re going to have to stone her.”

“I think she’s stoned enough already,” the American college student said.

I was going to have to stand next to someone else.

Druids have worshipped at Stonehenge for thousands of years. Considered a sacred temple by Druids, the structure still serves as a place of worship during the winter and summer solstices. According to the Stonehenge and Amesbury Druids, they’re not the only worshippers who visit the site. “Some are very credible,” their website states, “and others perhaps less so.” Like this goat’s head woman. She was a New Ager. If I remembered my “Dungeons and Dragons Player’s Handbook” correctly, she was no Druid.

The queue began to move and took us through a tunnel under the highway and up to Stonehenge; paintings of ancient man constructing the megalithic structure with ropes and manpower decorated the walls.

“That’s so wrong,” the student said, shaking his head at the paintings. “Where are the aliens?”

“You should ask if there’s a spaceship buried here,” another student suggested.

One of the complaints consistent with the first time someone sees a historical object is that it’s smaller than they expected. Emerging from the tunnel to the level of the stones, I can tell you Stonehenge is exactly what I expected. Although no one but employees, archeologists, and Druids are allowed to walk amongst the stones, a path takes visitors close enough to give the impression of the size of the structure. Vertical stones with horizontal capstones loom 13 feet over the people walking the perimeter, and the taller stones in the center stand above them. Yeah, it’s big. The witch was off to the side, talking with a family from Germany and waving her staff; she wasn’t in the inner circle. Uh-huh. Point made.

Busloads of tourists merged with us as we made our way around the site, just a smattering of the 800,000 people who visit here each year. At £25.40 for adults, and £15 for children, one of the greatest standing wonders of the ancient world is a bit of a bargain.

Sixty minutes later, my tour bus group made its way to the exit and found the cloaked woman with the goat-head staff kneeling and talking with a child.

“I’m going to talk to her,” the college student said.

“I think she has a wart,” I told him. “That proves she’s a witch. She’s trying to indoctrinate that little girl into her coven.”

Another student stopped him. “She might curse you.”

We only had an hour at Stonehenge. Pity. I could have stayed all day.

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*I left something out. This ancient site isn’t just the rocks. It also incorporates a shallow 361-foot trench around the stone circle, but I left it out because nobody comes to Stonehenge and says, “Will you look at that ditch!”