Exploring Historic Avebury: A Travel Diary

This series of posts are directly from my travel journal and form an online record/photo album of our trips…

Saturday, March 1, 2025

Anyone who claims it’s about the journey rather than the destination either flies at a pointier end of the plane than we do (in full disclosure we choose premium economy for this long-haul flight) or, like my husband, is that annoying person who fastens his seatbelt and is asleep before we take off.

That’s not me. I’m operating on a grand total of around 25 minutes of sleep in the last thirty-six hours, so as we’re making our final descent into Heathrow I’m just overtired enough to declare this morning’s breakfast to be a “credit to the airline” and “possibly the best airline breakfast ever” and even, “it makes up for them running out of the chicken before they got to us on both of yesterday’s flights”. Perhaps I meant it.

It’s 5:55 am, so dark, but even so, by now we can usually see the lights of London below us. A cheery announcement from the First Officer informs us that outside is a good old-fashioned London fog – and it’s currently minus one.

As we cross the airbridge, cold air rushes through a gap. Upon seeing the shorts and t-shirts we left home wearing, one of the ground staff chuckles and wishes us good luck.  He doesn’t know we have jeans, jackets (and fresh underwear – too much information?) in our carry-ons that we’ll change into at the first available bathroom. This isn’t our first rodeo.

In less than an hour we’re more appropriately attired, have sailed through immigration and are on the shuttle bus to collect the rental.

The fog is dense and low; we can hear the roar of descending aircraft but don’t see them.

Hungerford

The fog has burnt off to a gorgeous blue day. Cold, but blue.

After a pitstop at Reading Services for coffee and a disappointing sausage roll from Gregg’s (4/10), we’re at Hungerford in time to meet the train Sarah’s bestie is coming in on.

Hungerford was the first stop we made on our first trip to the UK back in September 1995. Grant’s Aunt Anne had met us (we were travelling with Grant’s mum) at Heathrow and we stopped at his Uncle Terry’s pub – The Sun Inn –where we had tea and toast. I don’t remember much about it (other than what I’d written in my journal all those years ago) but I do remember the thatched houses.

Aunt Anne, Uncle Terry and, indeed, Grant’s mum are all gone now., So is The Sun Inn at Charnham St.  Although Uncle Terry gave it up years ago in favour of a B&B in Devon, a little light googling tells me that Greene King sold it to a BMW car dealership back in 2018. Shame. The town, however, is a beautiful one and I wish we had longer to look at the antique shops, but Shay’s train is pulling in.

Avebury

The market is on and Marlborough’s wide (apparently the second widest in England) high street is packed with cars. Although we intended to stop, the likelihood of getting a car park is minuscule so we drive on – past the town hall, past the church and past the posh private school that Kate Middleton once attended – towards Avebury.

Avebury’s henge and stone circle (a henge is the circular enclosure containing the stone circle – yes, I had to google it) date back 4600 years. The bank and ditch are almost a mile in circumference, and the ditch was originally around nine metres deep. The banks were built up from chalk, dug from the ditch using stone and bone tools, and both would have been bright white when new. I got all of this straight from the National Trust website. Anyways, the outer stone circle is the largest prehistoric circle of standing stones in the world. Unlike Stonehenge where they reckon the stones may have come from as far away as Scotland, these stones are locally sourced – fortunate given the largest ones weigh at least 100 tonnes.

The henge pretty much encircles the village and we spend ages wandering around. The ground is muddy and I curse the (new) white sneakers I’m wearing. I place my hands on the stone hoping I can hear a buzz or something – perhaps I’ve been watching too much Outlander.

Wandering the village I’m beyond excited to see daffodils everywhere.

Lunch was at the White Horse Inn at Compton Bassett. Grant had a terrine with a side of fries (and half of my pie and mash), Shay had a spiced parsnip soup (which I had food envy over) and I had a chicken and bacon pie with mash and cabbage. Our first pint (Timothy Taylor Landlord) went down very easily indeed.

The pub is named after the chalk horse on the hill nearby at Cherhill (which is, incidentally opposite The Black Horse Inn). According to folklore, real white horses predicted the future husband of an unmarried girl. She would have to keep count of the white horses she saw and the first man she saw after the 100^th white horse, she would one day marry.

Wimborne

After dropping Shay back at Hungerford station, we headed south to Wimborne and ducked into East Street Deli (what a shop!) for some local cheese to take into our friends – Blue Vinnie, Old Winchester and Dorset Brie. Wimborne is a lovely market town and we make a mental note to come back for a closer look at the Minster while we’re in the area.

It’s fantastic to see our friends again, and despite our exhaustion, we pick up the conversation where we left off the last time we saw them a few years ago. It’s strange to think that we met over twenty-seven years ago in prenatal classes. It feels like just yesterday.

Shirley cooked a boeuf bourguignon, and that, along with plenty of laughs, good wine, and the cheese we brought, was the perfect end to a long, long day.   

The Stats…

Temperature: -1 – 9C

Distance travelled: approx 180 miles*

*Even though we work in kms in Australia, all signage in the UK is in miles, so that’s what I’m going with.

These posts are taken directly from my travel journal … you can find the series here.