The White Horses and Hill figures are never quite on their own. Whatever the season someone in our landscape will be aware of one in the corner of their eye, perhaps in the far distance through the window of their cottage, above or below them when walking downland and upland, or looming over them from the other side of the valley. Like many, they first came into my own conscious when young, in Dorset, intermittently glimpsing the Fovant Badges or the Cerne Abbas Giant framed through the glass of the family car as we skimmed past the flickering hedgerows and trees, or suddenly ahead, after the curve in a road, in stark view.
