Secrets of the Black Peak

I first came across the place known as Black Peak when researching the area around Fowlmere in South Cambridgeshire for Tales from Iceni Territory. I read about evidence of Iron Age occupation of probably the least impressive hill to be named a peak in the the United Kingdom. This low lying rise in the ground sits just west of the village and like so much of the neighbouring countryside is now a featureless field.

Black Peak

However, the more I understood the topography of the area, the more Black Peak revealed itself as an ideal spot for our ancestors to inhabit. Tucked in next to the crystal clear chalk springs, it would have been a dry, well drained site, but with easy access to water. Not only water for consumption, but water for protection. The mere that gave the neighbouring village its name would have shielded it, not to mention providing a bounty of wildlife for food.

With the mere long drained, access to Black Peak now is easy and on a beautiful early autumn day, Boom and I set out from the car park of the RSPB Fowlmere reserve which now protects the area around the neighbouring springs. We're banned from the reserve - even at this time of year dogs are persona-non-grata as far as the RSPB are concerned. However there is a track along the perimeter which takes us towards Fowlmere airfield and Black Peak. It was here back in 2022 where I gazed into the dark mirror of the water-filled dykes and a mistle thrush was too drunk on berries to manage to take-off as we approached.

Today, after the summer drought, the ditches are bone dry and there's little moving as we gaze through gaps in the alder carr across the reed beds that populate the reserve. After a few minutes, we bear left and survey the upturned saucer that is Black Peak. The crop on rotation, is recently planted and sparse, so we have an open invitation to walk along the tramlines and indulge in some field walking, scanning the ground for flint scatter or anything of interest that the plough might of unearthed.

A flat stone catches my eye. I pick it up. A brief rub reveals it not to be a stone at all, but a piece of pottery, pale in colour with a slight curve in profile. I'm not an expert, but it can only be ancient. A little further on after picking up a number of flints and discarding them back to the soil, I spy a small round ball. If you were on a field with a more recent historical story to tell, you might be thinking 'musket ball'. Indentations on either side make me want to label it a bead. But this is fanciful thinking. The reality is more likely a fossil that has emerged from the underlying chalk*. Intriquing none the less. I keep it for further analysis.

Possible pottery from the Iron Age and a mystery fossil?

I've literally spent 30 minutes surveying a fraction of the Black Peak and most of that hindered by a terrier that can scent the deer that I've seen here on a regular basis, meaning that my arm is being continually strained as he pulls to the next exciting aroma amongst the new growth that always seems to be tantalisingly just out of reach.

We retreat, happy that the Black Peak has given up some of its secrets and retrace our steps whilst looking away to the south west where a hedge line marks the route of the Roman Road following the Icknield Way, pointing directly at where we stand. The history is all around you, if only you can afford the time to look.

*Subsequently confirmed as a fossilised sea-urchin. Often found apparently in late Cretacious period deposits.