One afternoon, I slipped away from the fluorescent hum of work and found myself standing among giants.
The Devil’s Arrows, three Neolithic monoliths, rise from the earth like ancient punctuation marks. The tallest, at nearly 7 metres, is the second-tallest standing stone in the UK. Erected over 4,000 years ago, these stones likely formed part of a ceremonial alignment, possibly marking lunar or solar events. Their orientation hints at a prehistoric understanding of the cosmos.
I settled beneath the tallest, where the shade of both stone and tree offered sanctuary. The cool gritstone at my back became a silent companion. Meditation here felt less like escape, more like communion with time, place, with something older than language.
Folklore says the Devil, enraged with the town of Aldborough, climbed How Hill and hurled these stones in fury.
“Borobrigg keep out o’ way, for Aldborough town I will ding down!” he cried.
But his aim was off. He missed. The stones fell short, embedding themselves in the soil near Boroughbridge.
Whether placed by human hands or flung by myth, the Arrows remain. Still. Watchful. Whispering across millennia.
