Parker G. Emerson, author


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IN DEVELOPMENT



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THE RING OF BRODGAR


The Ring of Brodgar near Stenness, Scotland, is an awesome site in the true sense of the word: inspiring a combination of great admiration, apprehension, and fear. Admiration for the sheer size of the henge, the scale of the stones, and the manpower and planning to build such a huge assemblage in this challenging environment five thousand years ago. Apprehension of the possible mystic meanings of the structure. And fear that we may not understand the spiritual powers at play in the environment. It is the most recent, some five hundred years younger than the other two, and the largest of the three major henges in the area. A football field would easily fit inside the circle where there were once sixty standing stones, of which thirty-six survive. The stones are huge: fifteen to twenty-five feet tall, four to five feet wide, and about one foot thick. Each is roughly rectangular, but the tops are cut at different angles. The stones were not all installed at the same time, but some were added and some removed centuries apart.


Interesting number, sixty. The Persians measured in sixties, hence sixty minutes in an hour, seconds in a minute, and three-hundred-sixty degrees in a circle. While sixty standing stones allow marking up to thirty celestial or geographic alignments, all sixty were not erected at the same time, and there is scant evidence that they were all in place at the same time. However, there are stones aligned to the cardinal directions and to the Spring equinox. There may also have been some lunar alignments, but this is still being investigated.


The ditch surrounding the stones is 1,400 feet long, and, like the henge at Stenness, was cut into bedrock using only stones and antler picks. Unlike most henges, there is no ring mound outside the ditch. It’s not that the ring mound was filled in by farming or plowing over the centuries. It never existed. The material removed to make the ditch may have been used for the nearby burial mounds. This theory also fits with archaeological evidence that the ditch was not dug at one time, but in segments over several centuries, possibly as stones were added to the circle.


As Sandra and I walk around the outside of the ditch, I ponder the possible reasons for the henge’s existence.


I like the trolls legend. These were not your diminutive live-under-the-bridge trolls of German folk tales. These were giant trolls who were dancing in a circle one night. Whirling like dervishes, their dancing put them into a trance, and they didn’t notice dawn was approaching. Now, everyone knows that trolls should only be out of their caves and above ground during the night. The first rays of the rising sun struck the trolls and instantly turned each to stone; the very standing stones we see today.


Archaeologists like to say that large assembly areas must be ceremonial centers. This certainly makes sense to our rather modern minds: why build a large structure that is clearly not a palace unless it is a ceremonial worship center? The problem is that no religious objects or markings have been found; this seems to eliminate the worship center suggestion.


Perhaps the Ring of Brodgar was a place to remember ancestors. Each standing stone might represent some important family, clan, or tribal leader. Locals and descendants might gather and stop at each stone in remembrance, sort of like Catholics praying at the Stations of the Cross, and then conclude with a feast at the central fireplace. This would make it a ceremonial center of sorts, but not in the sense of a religious worship center. More like visiting the Viet Nam Veterans Memorial or the Lincoln Memorial where we go to appreciate their contributions to our lives.


I like to think the henges might have been the local pubs of 3000 BCE; places where locals posted stones representing their favorite teams or leaders, got together and downed a few horns of mead, barbequed a few deer, sheep, or cows, and maybe had a spear-throwing contest (early darts). The ditch would have kept those imbibing too much mead from wandering too far off. It could have been a fun place.
The Door - A short story about a door that disappears on a submerged nuclear missile submarine.
(added June 30, 2024)
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“Be No” finished his eight-hour watch commanding the nuclear missile submarine USS Simon Bolivar, returned to his stateroom, and prepared to take a quick shower before going down to the wardroom for supper, when he sensed something was amiss. He pondered the situation for several minutes before realizing what it was. He had not opened the stateroom door. It was not that he had forgotten about opening the door, or that he had left it open earlier.


It was missing.


We had been at sea, submerged, for the past 135 days and were in transit back home. For the last 120 days we had been “on alert,” ready to shoot one, some, or all our 16 ICBMs on a moment’s notice. It would take another two to three weeks to get home. We never went straight from home port to our first alert area, and always took a circuitous route from our last alert area to home. During the transit home we sometimes pulled pranks to break the relative boredom. None of these would diminish our operational readiness, but they could irritate some crew members. The missing door was one of these hijinks.


“Be No,” the second in command of the boat (the Executive Officer, or XO), had earned the sobriquet because he was sometimes called upon to be the chief disciplinarian (or “hard ass’). He seemed to relish this role, and was noted for saying “There will be no (something) until ...”

Anxious to regain the privilege of privacy due his position, Be No started searching nearby areas for his door. This was a standard size door, 30 inches wide and 74 inches high, so it would be hard to hide. It could not have been simply ejected overboard with the trash because (1) it would have to be broken into small pieces to fit in the Trash Disposal Unit, and (2) there had been no TDU operations since he last seen his door. It must be somewhere onboard the submarine, and he was determined to find it. 


On the general announcing system he called, “All hands to their battle stations until further notice. All hands to their battle stations until further notice.”


This meant every individual would be accounted for in a specific location and they could not move about the boat. He was taking no chances that as he searched the boat his door would be moved as well. He commandeered the Chief of the Boat (the senior enlisted person) to accompany him and do the dirty work during the search. Starting forward in the torpedo room, they even checked inside the torpedo tubes, although the door would have to have been broken in half lengthwise to fit into the 19-inch tubes. They proceeded aft compartment by compartment, room by room, and bilge by bilge looking for the door. Ceiling to floor. Behind equipment bolted to the decks. Between the frames that make the ribs of the boat. They checked under the mattress in every crewman’s and officer’s bunk. They checked to see if it was attached to another door of the same size. They even checked the captain’s stateroom. 


It could not be in the reactor compartment because that was kept sealed whenever the reactor was operating, but they looked through the viewing windows and cameras anyways. They checked the spaces behind the panels of gauges and switches that control the steam plant, the reactor, and the electrical distribution. They got all the way aft where the driveshaft exits the boat … and found no door.


Be No was furious. It had to be somewhere onboard, but where? No one knew anything about the missing door, even though he asked everyone as he searched each area. He suspected that it was one of the “A-gangers.” These are the men who maintain and operate the auxiliary equipment such as the scrubbers that remove CO2 from the air, the burners that remove volatile hydrocarbons from the air, the oxygen generators, and such. The A-gangers had a bit of a reputation for parties and pranks, especially Machinist’s Mate First Class Wilbur “Brownie” Brown.


“Secure from battle stations. Secure from battle stations. Return to normal operations,” Be No announced, and most of the crew returned to their off-duty activities: sleeping, eating, watching movies, reading, exercising, or playing games, while the remainder operated the ship.


Not one to be easily defeated, Be No established a special watch. In shifts, 24 hours a day, one of the A-gang acted as his stateroom door. When Be No approached the doorway, either leaving or entering, the doorman would hold out his arms in front of him, one over the other, and rotate as an opening and then a closing door.


They kept this up for the three weeks it took to return to home port. No one complained. No one confessed.


When we arrived in port and had tied up to the pier, the XO announced, “There will be no liberty until my door is returned and in place.”


Three seconds later we heard, “This is the captain. Liberty goes down for the liberty section NOW.”


Be No returned to his stateroom with the human door and found a typed note on his desk. “There is indoor dining and outdoor dining. You have had the unique experience of over-door dining for three weeks.”


Rushing down to the wardroom, he looked in the one place on the entire boat that he had not looked. There, neatly and securely duct-taped, and exactly filling the gap in the C-shaped metal reinforcing bar under the dining table, was his door.


Many of us heard Be No call out from the wardroom even without the aid of the announcing system, “Brownie!!!”


Copyright 2023 by Parker G. Emerson
Countryslide A short story of two brothers on a memorable mile-long midnight sled ride in the bitter cold of western Massachusetts in the early 1960s.
Document
Countryslide

WHAT ELSE IS COMING?
Other titles in various stages of development include:

Travels with Spot: Into the Midnight Sun

Travels with Spot: Life on a Nuclear Missile Submarine

Travels with Spot: Rome to Barcelona

Travels with Spot: Exploring the English Isles

Spot On: Short Stories and Musings