THE SCOURING OF UFFINGTON WHITE HORSE

28th August 2023

It’s the August bank holiday and a steady stream of pilgrims can be seen, slowly making their way uphill. At the brow, figures can be seen swarming the ancient and distinctive chalk figure of Uffington White Horse. 

Normally, such behaviour would be frowned upon by the custodians, the National Trust. But for two days a year, they actively encourage it. You’re handed a small mallet, collect a bucket of chalk from the top of the hill and make your way down to the horse, to hammer the chalk to a soft paste into the figure.

Looking across White Horse Hill to the activity in front of me, I’m reminded of old illustrations which show similar scenes. Saxon soldiers cutting the figure into the landscape (with the creation now proven to date back to the late Bronze Age), or two 19^th Century men in the foreground, observing and pointing at the industrious scouring of the horse. I’m also reminded I’m about to take part in a great local tradition spanning centuries, which has ensured the survival of this iconic 3,000-year-old chalk figure. 

There are many legends surrounding the Uffington White Horse, of how it comes down to the valley below at night to graze, or heads to nearby Wayland’s Smithy to be shod. Like all chalk figures across the British Isles, the horse needs to be cleared of vegetation and a fresh layer of chalk applied periodically, lest it disappear and pass into legend itself. 

Gone are the rowdy festivities that formed part of the Uffington Pastime, where a fair was held at nearby Uffington Castle for the community to celebrate their work in cleaning the horse. Today’s scouring event is a gentler affair, with families in attendance. People chat and laugh. It’s a break from the online world, bar the opportunity to take the occasional photo.

“I bet people have fun working on that rude chalk figure. You know the one?” notes my immediate neighbour to the right. “Imagine the selfies they take.” I resist the urge to answer, “almost Cerne-tainly,” in case the punchline doesn’t land, and besides, his partner doesn’t seem impressed by his observation. Instead, I smile broadly and continue tapping away at the lumps, while he reminds her to take some water. 

My neighbours to the left have enthusiastically brought their own clawhammers for the job. Despite being advised by the National Trust assistant they might find it easier using the small mallets they provide visitors with, they carry on with their own tools regardless, occasionally looking enviously at my mallet and the ease with which it crushes the chalk. I spy someone occasionally using the flat of the mallet to bash the chalk, and I copy the same. Later I develop a technique of using my free hand to create a bridge to prevent the overspill of chalk lumps, while I softly tap around it. Someone further down the line notices and copies it. We’re all learning, all having fun and letting the mallet do the work. 

Every so often, I take a break and look over to the land stretching across the valley below the hill, as far as the eye can see. The wind is a gentle breeze and there’s sufficient cloud cover to keep the work pleasant enough.

The gentle and repetitive beat of mallets against the ground fittingly reminds me of the sound of galloping horses; and everyone here is playing their part to ensure the Uffington White Horse continues her timeless journey across the Berkshire Downs. 

An hour soon passes, and my basket of chalk is empty. I’m now thinking about that walk down The Ridgeway and a visit to my old friend, Wayland’s Smithy. At the end of the day, a pint or two awaits in my local pub. As I head back down the hill, I take the first look of many back to the horse. She looks cleaner and more gleaming than ever. 

In the end, we’re all part of history and I’m proud to have played a small part of hers, like those who came before me. While I still have strength to climb that hill, I’ll be back to shod her year after year, whenever the opportunity arises.

Legends and magic

Debate continues as to whether the chalk figure represents a horse or some other creature, with many referring to it as a dragon. Those adhering to the latter might take their cue from nearby Dragon Hill, immediately below the figure. This flat topped chalk hillock, is according to legend where St George slew a dragon. The patch of chalk on top of the mound reputedly marks the spot where the dragon fell, it’s blood tainting the ground and allowing no grass to grow there.

Some 1.5 miles southwest of the horse and a pleasant walk along the Ridgeway is Wayland’s Smithy long barrow (c. 3,600BC), which takes its name from the blacksmith of Norse mythology, brought over by Saxon settlers in the 5th century. The local myth is that whoever brings a horse and coins to the site and leaves both there overnight will find the horse shod in the morning and the coins missing, payment in return for the supernatural smith’s work. The Uffington White Horse is said to frequently require the Smith’s services.

Legendary pints and magical refreshment

It stands to reason that the nearest hostelry is going to take its name from the local landmark and The White Horse in Woolstone holds that honour, offering both food and accommodation. 

It’s a steep climb back up the hill to the National Trust car park, so recommended as a stopping point before returning home, or maybe as a launching point for exploring the area if staying as an overnight guest.

Kitchen hours are limited to two hours each way at lunchtime and in the evening, and extended to three hours on a Sunday. Built in Elizabethan times, the bar retains its rustic charm with local character. On a sunny and warm day, there’s room outdoors at the front and back, although the front is best suited for the more contemplative, who prefer to observe village life and listen to bird song.

The White Horse, Marsh Way, Woolstone SN7 7QL

Further details on Uffington White Horse available here.