The Hedge, The Fool, and the Sanctuary of White Nancy

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Twenty-five years ago, a group of conservation volunteers arrived on the path to White Nancy, Bollington. They had come to restore a 200-yard stretch of hedgerow that had been left neglected for more than two decades.

A stroll below White Nancy Part 2

The unintended consequence of this neglect was that the hedge—though badly overgrown—had become a haven for biodiversity. The volunteers were scathing in their criticism of the people of Bollington, feeling that their work would be forgotten. I brought them a flask of coffee, and before they left, I promised to look after the stretch as best I could.

Twenty-five years later, that hedgerow contains a greater level of species diversity than any other in Bollington. For over a decade, I have told those who stop to chat that I would happily donate £200 to the conservation charity of their choice if they could find a better, more species-rich stretch of hedge in Bollington. To my sadness, no one has yet claimed it.

A stroll below White Nancy Part 3

Perhaps the greatest irony is that the hedge survived because the land owners had neither the need nor the inclination to manage it. Without the ability to easily bring in tractors, the hedge escaped the "savage hacking" that has reduced so many local hedgerows to virtual deserts—stripped of flowers for the insects, and berries for the birds and mammals.

A few years ago, embracing my role as the "Bollington Village Fool," I crafted nearly 100 bird boxes. Twenty-five of these went into my hedge, named after local children. They were part of a broader exhibition called “The Limits of Tolerance.” Tragically, every box placed in public parks and at the Town Hall disappeared within 24 hours.

My work has become more difficult since the cows were moved to make way for saplings planted by the Cheshire Wildlife Trust. While these trees will eventually create a beautiful woodland, we are now in a difficult transition. Without careful maintenance, the nettles, brambles, and weeds will take over before the trees have a chance to thrive.

While I believe the Wildlife Trust’s money is better spent on trees than on maintenance the community should be doing itself, I continue my work. As long as I am here, you will see patches of wildflowers alongside my art—the willow sculptures of the Green Man and Anansi the spider, or the scale model of Stonehenge that greeted the solstice this year.

                                                                    The Green Man

The Heart of the Hedge

It is humbling to realize that the 200-yard stretch I have tended for 25 years is potentially home to over 2,000 species. When I look at the hedge, I see a bustling city of over 1,500 types of insects, a nesting ground for dozens of bird species, and a highway for the hedgehogs and bats that call our Bollington countryside home.

These aren't just statistics; they are my neighbors. On my early morning walks, I bring bird seed to our regular stations, and it isn’t long before I see them waiting—the birds, and even the voles and mice, who seem to know exactly when I am coming. There is a profound, quiet trust in that moment. It is a world away from the ‘savage hacking’ that threatens to turn our local landscape into a biological desert. These small lives are the reason I have spent a quarter-century acting as a guardian of this space.

                                                      A stroll below White Nancy Part 4.

I am not going to pretend that I am not proud of what I have achieved, but that is of little consequence when you consider that the best that has been done, has been done by one old fool.

Of course, there are always things that could be done, and I suspect it would be relatively easy for the council to take control of the land given it's public access history. But, then they would have to care for it and I'm not sure they can afford or want to. 

Travelling Stonehenge arrives below White Nancy For The Solstice

Shadows, Scale, and the Solstice: Building a 1:22 Stonehenge below White Nancy in Bollington For four days this June, a tiny piece of ancient alignment found a temporary home in the hills above Bollington. I built a 1:22 scale model of Stonehenge as she would have looked when completed and with the help of AI was able to built to test the astronomical layout used by our Neolithic ancestors. I took the model out into the pastures just below White Nancy to see if the ancient alignment would hold up against the real world on the Summer Solstice. Reclaimed Wood and Global Art The construction itself was a labuor of love, crafted entirely from reclaimed wood and painted a weathered grey. But it became much more than a simple structural replica. Five local friends contributed to the build, helping to decorate the stones and turning it into a true community monument. We layered the structure with layered, cross-cultural symbolism: The Outer Walls: Adorned with hand shapes, echoing some of humanity's earliest cave art. The Inner Sarsens: Painted with intricate Celtic symbols. The Sarsen Flanks: Decorated with striking figures inspired by the Bronze Age petroglyphs of Tanumshede, Sweden. The Inner Bluestones: Each individual bluestone was named after a different goddess. Reflecting on the female energy built into the circle, my mum wisely pointed out that humanity probably would have been a lot better off if we had stuck to worshipping goddesses instead of gods! The Hill vs. The Horizon Deploying an astronomical model on the western flank of Kerridge Hill presents a unique geographical puzzle. While the mathematical sunrise for the solstice is a crisp 45^∘ Northeast, the physical landscape has other plans. Directly to the east, the ridge rises up sharply, creating a massive natural barrier between the model and the flat horizon. On the morning of June 21st, the astronomical dawn came and went at 4:40 AM. The sky painted itself in brilliant oranges and golds, but the valley pasture remained draped in the hill's long shadow. Then came the magic. The Solstice Flash Around half an hour later, the sun finally climbed high enough to clear the crest of the ridge. It didn't rise slowly; it burst over the top of the hill in a sudden, blinding flash of light. Because the model had been aligned perfectly to the Northeast axis, the effect was instantaneous. The shadow-line swept dramatically down the pasture, and a compressed beam of morning sunlight shot directly through the outer entrance gap, cut cleanly past the goddess bluestones, and illuminated the flat Altar Stone at the very center. The geometry was flawless. A Temporary Monument The model remained standing in the pasture for four nights, a small geometric marker anchoring the hill to the sky, its painted hands and Swedish petroglyphs catching the changing English weather. Building it taught me a massive appreciation for the prehistoric builders who mapped the movements of the heavens using nothing but natural materials, patience, and an intimate understanding of their landscape. Watching the sun hit that central stone made every calculated angle, late-night painting session, and community effort entirely worth it.