On a meander around the mighty summits of Dartmoor, Manjit Dhillon recalls tales of warring giants, complex marriages and clotted cream
BENEATH Plymouth’s Royal Citadel are two carvings of giants, a Cerne Abbas in duplicate. Their extraordinary story can be found within the weighty tomes of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s The History of the Kings of Britain, albeit eclipsed by the sexier legend of King Arthur.
From the top of Cox Tor on Dartmoor, I watch Plymouth Sound, imagining Brutus’s astonishment on his arrival at Totnes, expecting these isles to be uninhabited and coming face to face with a fierce army of giants. Against the odds, the giants are defeated and their leader Gogmagog left running for his life. He hides on Dartmoor and, as I look down, I can see his towering frame lying low as the soil turns to mire with his tears for losing his beloved Albion.
Gogmagog’s humiliation isn’t complete, as Brutus lures him to Plymouth Hoe to wrestle Corineus as a final decider. With a tilt-a-whirl arm drag and shoulder throw later, Corineus hurls the Goliath over the cliffs to his death and secures his totemic status as the second of the two carved giants. In Geoffrey’s version, the giants are then extinct, but local legends beg to differ. These speak of survivors stepping over the Tamar into Cornwall or retreating to the caves of Dartmoor. It’s a sublime stretch of the imagination, a mammoth walk on the wild side, yet, in this uncanny landscape, the giants’ presence is everywhere.
I start my search on the western reaches of Dartmoor, where the direct route to Plymouth intersects the wilderness. As I walk, I think about Gogmagog’s comrades rescuing their mangled leader from the rocks and carrying him here for a ritual burial. Explicit references are plentiful as I pass a cist on Giants Hill. At the top of Lower Hartor, colossal granite boulders create a curious fairytale incongruity and the valley below is bleak and remote even by Dartmoor’s standards.
I make my way down to Drizzlecombe’s prehistoric site of stone rows, noticing how the sky fills the mind completely in this widest of terrains. Everything feels so much bigger, including the menhir, the tallest on the moors. Beyond is the Giant’s Basin, a peculiar earthworks at odds with the prehistory. It is a vast mound containing a cavernous central hollow with the remains of a cist. Perhaps it’s the mix of the setting and the energy from the ley lines, but I just know Gogmagog is in there.
