Fig. 8. The Agglestone, Studland Heath, Dorsetshire. A natural mass of concretionary sandstone belonging to the Bagshot sands of the district. Much pagan tradition is associated with this block, which has been curiously eroded by rain, frost, and wind. The so-called “Druid’s basins” are altogether natural cavities.
One of the best known of the natural megaliths to which traditions cling is the Agglestone, or Hagglestone, situated on the moors near Studland, in Dorsetshire ([Fig. 8]). This Agglestone is a huge inverted cone of indurated rock in direct connection with the Lower Bagshot Sands on which it rests; in other words, its shape and position cannot be artificial. It is a mass of sandy material, so thoroughly cemented by oxide of iron that it has resisted denudation with some degree of success. Yet the so-called sub-aërial agencies, principally wind and rain, have undercut its base, rounded its outlines, and scooped out the “rock-basins,” which the eighteenth century antiquaries ascribed to the labours of Druids[110]. It is noteworthy that the Agglestone belongs to a part of the country the inhabitants of which were pictured by Bede as confirmed pagans (paganissimi)[111]. From a review of the legends, as well as from a consideration of the name, Agglestone (most probably from A. S. halig = holy), and its alternative designation, Devil’s Nightcap, there is fair reason to believe that the stone had some significance to the heathen folk of Wessex, and that it was very probably a Christian preaching station.
The Agglestone doubtless proved too unwieldy and obdurate for the tools of those who set up the first Christian crosses, but this has not been the case with many other pillars, whether hewn or unhewn. Some of the upright “crosses” of Devon and Cornwall, for instance, are of extremely coarse workmanship, as the student may see for himself by inspecting the illustrations given in the works of Messrs A. G. Langdon and W. Crossing[112]. Nor need the simplicity of the early workmanship cause surprise, for the oldest Cornish crosses date from the seventh century. A like plainness is met in many other parts of England. At Fulstow, Lincolnshire, I noticed a crude churchyard pillar of hard, grey chalk, roughly squared, now mounted on a much more recent plinth. The stone is much pitted by weathering, and is clad with lichens of varying hues. If the monolith be not a pre-Christian relic, trimmed into a rectangular form, it is most probably a very early pillar, co-eval with the first Early English church. It may have been dug out of the boulder clay, like many of the stones with which the churchyard paths are paved; or, if we accept modern theories respecting the glacial drift on the East of the Wolds[113], it is not an ice-borne relic, but must have been brought to the alluvial plain by man. The original home of the pillar was in the hill-slope, several miles to the West. This Fulstow “cross” is typical of others scattered throughout the East of England. Reverting to Cornwall, it must be observed that the numerous inscribed monoliths of that county are believed, on a balance of probabilities, to be of a Christian character[114]. Specimens are frequently found in remote spots, or they may occur in proximity to the church itself. At Camborne, an example is seen under the communion-table; at East Cardinham, in the graveyard; at St Cubert, in the wall of the church[115].
The early pillar “crosses,” though accounted Christian when tested by inscription and decoration, may yet have an earlier origin. It is now a commonplace that many of the crosses and calvaries of Brittany, “with shapeless sculpture decked,” are merely primitive menhirs adapted by the Christian artificer[116], and anyone who, like the writer, has had the opportunity of comparing the Breton series with the kindred group of our English Brittany, will readily agree that a similar story may be told of Cornwall. Something has been written on this topic elsewhere[117], and one need now only call attention to a curious instance of reversion in connection with the allied subject of tombstones, to show how deep-seated and perennial is the habit of imitation. In the “Quaker’s Cemetery,” two miles from Penzance, the only tomb remaining within the enclosure is formed of a massive slab of granite (5´.7´´ × 2´.1´´ × 1´.1´´), resting on large pieces of the same kind of rock. The tomb is evidently a copy of the dolmens of the moorland, yet its date is so recent as A.D. 1677[118]. This illustration of the “past in the present” supplies a warning note, and is not so irrelevant as it may appear for the moment.
We may follow our work by inspecting some interesting cases of the occurrence of unshaped masses of stone in, or near, the fabric of the church. We must start, however, with the clear axiom that natural blocks of stone, where readily procurable, must, like the spoil heaps of Roman buildings, at all times have invited the attention of masons. Not more than fifty or sixty years ago, Sir A. C. Ramsay noted that the “greywethers,” or sarsens, of the Marlborough Downs, were so thickly strewn over the surface, that across miles and miles of country a person might almost leap from stone to stone, without touching the ground. Yet, in our own day, the preservation of the greywethers has become a serious task, because they have been found so useful for paving-stones during the interval that has elapsed since Ramsay wrote, and it has been difficult to stop depredations on those that remain. Not forgetting our warning, there is still a possibility that, should the examples of churchyard sarsens prove numerous, and should there be a co-operation of other factors which indicate early sites of pagan worship, these two series of circumstances may be in relationship. A solitary example might be declared accidental; two or three citations only might raise an incredulous smile; hence, it is the cumulative force of recurring details which can alone afford pretence for a theory.
Situated in a long, dry Kentish valley which runs upwards in a Southerly direction towards the escarpment of the Chalk, and at a distance of about 1½ miles from the railway station at Eynesford, one may see the forlorn wreckage of Maplescombe church (Figs. [9], [10]). This church, which had a semicircular apse, still partially remaining, has been in ruins for three centuries. My attention was first called to the spot by Mr Benjamin Harrison, of Ightham, an archaeologist whose knowledge of his native district is unsurpassed. On visiting the ruins in 1904, I found a large, partially-sunken sarsen stone (3´.0´´ × 2´.0´´ × 1´.6´´) occupying what appeared to be the site of the ancient altar. A few smaller sarsens were also discernible, and other specimens, Mr Harrison states, have been carried off, at various times, by hop-pickers, to build hearths in the fields. In the field adjoining the church, the ploughshare has turned up
