The Thornborough Henges- three huge, aligned turf enclosures- constitute one of the finest and largest prehistoric ritual sites in Britain. They ought to be as well known as Stonehenge or Avebury.
Here's a poem I wrote about them a few years back.
Our towns might look like this- would look like this-
If we let them go. The southernmost henge is a lake
Of grasses. Follow the newly-planted hedge
And you come to the second in line which has thistles as well.
I sat in the West and the clouds hurried out of the East
And I watched the waves of sunshine roll to my feet.
Then by car to the third. It's a circular wood
And we followed the path round the bank- or I think we did
But the boskage has thickened the view. At a crook in the path
We came upon Helen who'd travelled the other way round,
All cheery because she'd discovered a raspberry bush.