Linby Well, Nottinghamshire, June 2026
A different day, a further peregrination, and another willing accomplice.
Our first stop, a well beside a busy road, a continuous stream of traffic snaking by, seemingly oblivious. Yet this is no St. Edith’s well, hidden by foliage and time. On the contrary, here is clipped grass, a huge stone cross built atop the well, and a dramatic stepped culvert through which the spring flows.
My accomplice, born and bred in the region, was shocked that she had “never given it a second look”, despite passing it on her daily commute for several years.
A thing unhidden – announced, even – and yet so easily overlooked.
It’s said that this spring, after disappearing beneath the road, flows on under another nearby stone cross and marks the boundary of Sherwood Forest, a landscape woven deep into English folklore, passed by with little reflection.
Yet when we stopped, and looked, I found myself utterly absorbed in the gravitational pull of the Well, cancelling out the traffic noise, the guy watching us from a nearby bench, and the stealthy glances from the sealed-off cars. I found myself lying unabashedly on the pavement to photograph it from different angles.
On, then, to Stanton Moor, drawn there initially to visit the famous Nine Ladies. True to form, though, my heart became set on finding Doll Tor Stone Circle. Lesser known, rather than unknown, with online posts repeatedly warning of difficult access and private land.
Unperturbed, we set off through a gate marked ‘No Public Right of Way’, negotiating lumpy field margins clogged with rocks and thistles. Several times we had to backtrack, but eventually found our way through. Only then, almost at our goal, did we see that there was an easier path. But that way would have missed the large herd of deer staring back at us from the middle of the crop field, nor would we have laughed so much as we stumbled around, slightly lost.
But lost no more, we found the little stone circle in a gentle woodland glade, introduced by a small sign which belied the ‘private’ warnings. I darted around taking pictures. Looking, but with a photographer’s eye. Only when I caught myself did I stand in the centre of that circle and arrive.
I felt something special descend around me. The stones seemed to hold me in a gentle embrace, and I sank down to sit quietly on the soft ground.
Others had been here and felt something too: a small recumbent stone held offerings of coins, pebbles, and fir cones; more little pebbles were balanced on the flat top of an upright stone; and off to the side, a framed photo sat against a tree, surrounded by ferns and knick-knacks.
So not an unknown stone circle, but one that required a bit of effort to reach, and one that reached out and offered a quiet space for contemplation, screened by trees.
Both places, the well and the stone circle, felt hidden not so much by landscape as by attention. By slowing down, relationship can begin, and I get to inhabit life more fully.
Yesterday, in a heatwave, I sat in the shade in my tiny garden and noticed a robin looking exhausted by the heat. I put out some water in a shallow dish and sat back down. The joy I felt when this little bird ventured over to bathe in it was almost ridiculous.
But it reminded me of something I’ve been learning: that the world is full of wonderful sights, and the journey is not necessarily measured in miles.
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