We'd made rituals at Avebury, Stonehenge, Glastonbury Tor and Ironbridge, the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution. Iconic places all, each in their own way. Where next? Clee Hill. OK, you may ask, where is Clee Hill and what is it? Clee Hill is an exposed area of high, stony land in Shropshire in the West Midlands of England. It has a number of distinct peaks and archaeology shows it to have been inhabited off and on since the Neolithic period. Suzanne Thomas, her musician husband, Jake, and their kids live there and have a deep affection for the place. Before the World Drum, I knew little of it, only having ever been driven across it on the way to other places. That was about to change. The first event Suzanne had organised for us was on one of the highest peaks, one with the curious name of Titterstone Clee. Elaine, co-ordinator of all the World Drum events, also lives in Shropshire but had never been to the top of Titterstone Clee. As mentioned in an earlier blog, this was one of the coldest springtimes on record, so, with a good deal of snow still lying on the high ground, Elaine though it might be wise to take a drive up to the Clee and see how passable it was. We did this the day before the ceremony was due to take place. Much of the very narrow road leading up onto the Clee was covered in a thick layer of impacted snow and ice. The car did slew about a little, enough to make us turn around well before we reached the car park and head back down the hill. Not very promising, but we had faith in The World Drum. It had been kind to us so far.
The following morning, we headed back to Titterstone Clee, the Drum stowed safely in its flight case in the back of the car and the rest of our drums and assorted robes in with it. Driving carefully in a ragged convoy, we made the upper car park without incident and climbed out of the car as others were doing the same. As at Glastonbury, the sun was shining brightly, the skies were bright blue all around us, and despite the frozen puddles and streams and the quite deep snow in places, it was actually quite warm. Once again, we were blessed.
We began to make our way up the hill. It was a long and winding way, taking us past two giant golfball-like structures that are apparently government listening and aircraft tracking centres. They look as surreal perched there on these ancient hills as Dali's lobster telephone. The walk being long, often steep and quite adruous, I took the opportunity to pause for a few moments by one of the giant golfballs and request the spirits of the land and people to bring us to a time when such places will no longer be necessary. This led to an image of the two great white balls tumbling down the hill in winter, gathering snow as they went and, on reaching the bottom, forming the most enormous snowman in history...
Back to the walk, which at times became a climb. Every now and then, I would see a group of people in front of me who had stopped and I would think, "Aha! We've arrived at the ritual site!" Then my hopes would be quickly dashed as they broke off their conversation and continued walking. This seemed to go on for hours. Perhaps the fact that I was carrying both the World Drum 
and my own drum and wearing a thick robe and wolfskin cloak may have made it seem longer. Nevertheless, being a determined sort of chap, I carried on ... and on .... and then on a bit more ...
At last, just as I thought we must have left not only the county but probably the country by now, we did arrive at our appointed destination. This was clearly a particularly high point as it had been marked with a concrete plinth at the base of which was an awen symbol.
Here we gathered. The weather was still superb, the views in all directions breathtaking, and I was quite pleased at the number of folk who had made the climb. There were about forty of us on the hilltop. So this was Titterstone Clee. I had to admit, it was impressive.
We formed our circle, spoke our blessings, spoke again the words of Morten Wolf Storeide's 'Speech for Mother Earth,' and then began to drum. The World Drum began the beat, a steady, rhythmic heartbeat. Other drummers picked it up and, as is the way with these things, the rhythm built in strength 
as we continued to drum, increasing our energy yet more, so that the power of the drums stepped up again, increasing our energy still further. Despite the surrounding snow, I began to feel quite hot.
At the close of the rite, we were all elated, as I think is apparent from some of these pictures. Once again, I thank Elaine Gregory (known on facebook as Elaine Wildways) for the photographs, including the one below, when Suzanne's husband, Jake, took me to visit the Giant's Chair, a little way over the hill from the site of the ceremony. In this peaceful, beautiful spot, I felt moved to play my flute to honour the spirits of the place.
Blessings to all,Greywolf /|\
