When I first became fascinated by ancient sites over 20 years ago, I had no idea it would mean embarking on over two decades of trespass. England has nearly 20,000 so-called ‘scheduled monuments’, which are registered and protected by Historic England. But as an analysis from the Right to Roam campaign recently uncovered, over a quarter of them are off-limits. That means at least 5,500 sites enjoy no formal rights of public access at all.
Main image: Right to Roam Kernow at Roche Rock | Credit: Connor Lassey
And that’s probably an underestimate. Not all our ancient sites are ‘scheduled’ (just the most high-profile), and Right To Roam discounted examples which might be visible from nearby paths or roads. The result is perhaps not surprising to those of us who have long been drawn to the ‘thin spaces’ scattered across our island; places where the echoes of the past still vibrate in the present. But at 28% of all sites in England, and 24% in Wales, it represents a shocking dispossession of our ancient heritage.
Ironically, one of my favourite of such places is a Cornish fogou (an underground stone structure, usually from the iron age) situated on the Trelowarren Estate in Cornwall. It just happens to be owned by Lady Victoria Vyvyan: president of the Country Land and Business Association and a right to roam opponent. It’s an incredible place, with the main chamber and creep passage like a portal into deep time. A visit conjures all kinds of complex questions about the fogou’s purpose – which is still unknown – and its alignment in the landscape.
This is one of the reasons why physical access is so important. Without the freedom to walk the land, it’s almost impossible to make the connections with our ancient past, or to properly understand the context of these places.
The fogou has been accessible via a permissive agreement for as long as I have known it – Lady Victoria’s ancestor, Clara Vvyvan; rebel girl, Yukon adventurer and travel writer who believed profoundly in people’s relationship with the outdoors. But, like all such permissive arrangements, that could one day be taken away on a whim. Given Victoria’s comments in response to Right to Roam’s report, you’d be right to worry.
Lady Vyvyan recently told the BBC that the identified sites “face constant threats – from motorbikes to metal detectors” (it’s not clear what either have to do with access reform). “Open them up” she says, “and we could lose them forever.”
It’s a familiar playbook: shut the public out then blame them for their own exclusion. But not, I think, a convincing argument. Thousands of archaeological sites have been lost to the plough over the decades, compounded by many sad cases of explicit vandalism inflicted by irresponsible or unknowing landowners.
In many cases, the recording of by the general, interested public is the only reason we know they’re there – which is the first step to ensuring their survival. In fact, an entire subculture of ‘stone tenders’ – enthusiast outdoors people, amateur archaeologists, geologists and historians – now exists to care for such places, who are sometimes forced to trespass to do it. The harder it is to access the site, the harder it is to care for it.
Being part of such groups has shown me how the relationship between open-minded landowners, passionate volunteers, and a local community connected to its scheduled monuments and ancient sites, makes for better understanding of – and care for – our unique landscapes.
Some might say: why not just ask for permission? When I can, I do. But it’s not easy. First, the landowner has to be willing to give it, and not all do. And even if they do, it’s rarely obvious who they are or how to contact them, let alone how to call ahead.
A default right of responsible access, as advocated by the Right to Roam campaign, would resolve the issue: removing the concerns that come with trespass, while respecting privacy and any practices occurring on the land. Of course, such rights don’t extend to motorbikes and nor should they (don’t worry, Lady Vyvyan!) and metal detecting would require precisely the same permissions as currently exist in Scotland. Indeed, the Scottish Outdoor Access Code (SOAC) guidance on ancient monuments is far more detailed than its counterpart ‘Countryside Code’ in England.
The sheer number of ancient monuments is one of the things that makes exploring the British countryside so special. Our landscape is dense with thousands of tumuli, earthworks, holloways, barrows, holy wells. Many of these are not ‘scheduled’ and enjoy no statutory protection – but are still special; conferring an enchanting strangeness to the places we live.
Our inability to access so many of them therefore poses profound questions about our ancient heritage, and who it is for. These sites long predate modern property ownership; connecting us to a past we cannot know except through experience. Our understanding of their purpose is usually little more than guesswork – it’s what we feel in their presence that gives them their meaning. These ancient sites are questions posed across time; remnants in search of remembrance. It seems an act of poor ancestry to sever our relationships with them. Because what is inaccessible is soon forgotten, and what is forgotten soon falls into decline.
Visit the Stone Club website to learn more and browse the map of inaccessible scheduled monuments. For more about the Right to Roam campaign, visit righttoroam.org.uk.
