Not much is known about The Nine Stones, the place where I was taken by the Druids. The Stones form a small circle, going back to prehistoric times. They’re thought to be about 4,000 years old. I’d read that in some local folklore, the Nine Stones have been considered to represent the Devil, his wife and their children. In another story, it’s said that they were once children, but the devil turned them into stones. All of the stories I could find about the Nine Stones are very sinister.

But this is not what the Druids believe. Ian, the Druid, considers this a scared, spiritual place. He tells me: “The spirits of the ancestors are still here. You can connect with them. You can feel the energy.”

When I move away to take a photograph, he reaches out to touch one of the largest stones, as some might reach out to touch an icon or tombstone in Church, as if drawing in strength and support.

“If you come here at night when there’s full moon…there’s a real magic, a real energy. You need to be in tune with it.” Ian says.

The place does have certain spirituality about it, especially with the sunlight dancing through the magical looking woods that border the Nine Stones. But it’s also bordered by a busy modern road. And right now, as the trucks and cars roar past, I’m having trouble connecting to some of the energy.

But I digress; let’s go back to the Druids.

On the front of Ian the Druid’s white robes, he wears a blue tunic with a symbol of interwoven rings. I have never seen it before and don’t have a clue what it means. It’s called a “Request.” Ian explains that it’s a Pagan symbol that’s used by Druids and Wicca’s and New Age people. In the Christian faith, he says, it would represent the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost. But for the Druids, it represents the maiden; the mother…and I think he says “the crow.” I look confused and repeat back to myself, “The crow? What have crows got to do with it?”

The Druid, ever patient, explains, “No, the crone.” Now if you’re still mystified, join the club. Ian sees my obvious confusion, and repeats “the crone. She’s an old hag. It represents the never ending circle of life.”

Then I ask him about the objects around his neck. My gaze fixates on a withered looking, gnarled thing, on the end of a simple necklace. It reminds me of some of the strange dried animal parts I’ve seen in some African markets. I have no idea what it is. It happens to be piece of Yew tree root, about 400 years old, collected from another stone circle.

On another necklace he has a small golden sickle, the symbol of the Druids, and around his waist a larger golden sickle – which, if you really don’t know, Druids use for cutting mistletoe.

But most impressive is his substantial staff, a large and heavy stick. “All Druids have staffs,” he said, “Its part of the Druids.” Ian actually makes the staffs for his fellow Druids. His staff comes from a silver birch that over the years has been twisted with honeysuckle. It’s then been stained with wode (now there’s a word you don’t hear often anymore. Now typically it’s a word that connotes madness. Perhaps I’ve misheard it? But in this case it’s a bluish stain) and a little bit of Mahogany color has been rubbed into it. It’s quite a beauty.

He’s also the person to contact if you want a wand. Apparently they’re all the rage with Druids. And yes, they got the idea long before Harry Potter.

That’s not all. Not quite. Ian has another thing to tell me. It’s about animal parts. He goes looking for road kill… He’s the person the other Druids turn to if they need a fox or pheasant part. He dries them for them…along with crow feathers, which appear to be one of the symbols or talismans of his group of Druids.

Finally, I ask him about Stonehenge. What does it mean to him and his fellow Druids? “Nobody can say 100% that the Druids were there, but the Druids like to think they were,” he says. “To me it was a university. People came to study there. They were very knowledgeable then. They knew the alignment of the planets and the 7 planets of the solar system.”

I feel that I’ve only scratched the surface of Druid beliefs. So I ask Ian the Druid whether there’s somewhere else, somewhere quieter, he can share with me. And with that, we’re off on the country roads once more…I follow but have no idea where they’re taking me.