Antonine Wall.

After our usual dawn patrol round the wood we decided to have a mosey along the Wall on the other side of the valley. Shrouded in a thick mist with the low sun trying to burn its way through, the old oaks were quite ethereal.
Regardless of the weather, I always find there is a "feeling" along the Wall. I suspect that, on a quiet day, if I were to concentrate and listen very carefully, I would hear the tramp of hobnailed sandals and the grumbles of "Marius' mules" as they marched to a new camp.
It is not at all spooky but I am sure the shades of long-gone legionaries march and counter-march endlessly all the while moaning about that bloody centurion or the cost of bread or whatever. "Plus ca change............"