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The Tattooed Hills: Journeys to Chalk Figures
Across Britain, and especially in the southern chalklands, is a series of figures cut into the hills, exposing the chalk beneath. These hill-figures are strange, mysterious, and sometimes controversial. They are of varying and often contested age, and vague purpose. They are horses, giants, crosses, a lion, a lost panda, crowns, a kiwi, regimental badges. They are often sited near ancient trackways, iron age earthworks or dissolved monasteries, and or close to stone circles. Some are faded or lost, their names preserved only in the names of valleys or hills.
Humans have long decorated their landscapes, but chalk hill figures are, almost uniquely, a feature of the English downland. This means they are sometimes seen as emblematic of Englishness, celebrated by poets, writers, artists and musicians. The book is a portrait of the places where these figures dominate, bringing in history, politics, literature, music, film and TV, but with a light touch. The Tattooed Hills isn’t a nostalgic elegy for England, instead it uses the figures as a lens through which to explore the land and delves into more troubling undercurrents—the way that chalk hill figures have sometimes been appropriated, in an attempt to pin down a narrow definition of Englishness and belonging.
Chalk carvings are signals for our identity and identities, and that their long history, the way they have inspired artists, musicians and writers, and the communities that live in their shadows, offer an alternative way of thinking about ourselves. Often created as memorials for historical events, their meanings, like their shape, have shifted over the years, these new interpretations reflecting our changing society and values. They are beacons on the hills, they speak to us and of us, no matter where we live or where we’re from.
Humans have long decorated their landscapes, but chalk hill figures are, almost uniquely, a feature of the English downland. This means they are sometimes seen as emblematic of Englishness, celebrated by poets, writers, artists and musicians. The book is a portrait of the places where these figures dominate, bringing in history, politics, literature, music, film and TV, but with a light touch. The Tattooed Hills isn’t a nostalgic elegy for England, instead it uses the figures as a lens through which to explore the land and delves into more troubling undercurrents—the way that chalk hill figures have sometimes been appropriated, in an attempt to pin down a narrow definition of Englishness and belonging.
Chalk carvings are signals for our identity and identities, and that their long history, the way they have inspired artists, musicians and writers, and the communities that live in their shadows, offer an alternative way of thinking about ourselves. Often created as memorials for historical events, their meanings, like their shape, have shifted over the years, these new interpretations reflecting our changing society and values. They are beacons on the hills, they speak to us and of us, no matter where we live or where we’re from.
256 pages, Hardcover
First published April 9, 2026
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
May 15, 2026
The Tattooed Hills is a book about figures cut into the chalk hillsides of England. It’s not a specialist or academic book. References and associations are wide-ranging, bringing in such topics as Brit Pop, XTC, photographer Lee Miller, composer Avril Coleridge-Taylor, the British Empire - bit of a stretch that one - folk music, disturbing right wing politics, Trinny and Susanna. There is some science, much biographical chit chat, a sprinkling of social history, and on occasion something vaguely spiritual. The author is attracted, for example, to the concept of ‘genius loci’, the idea of a special ‘spirit of place’, something that has to be ‘felt rather than thought about and picked apart.’
“I know it when I see it, when I sense it.”
The book justifiably defends its collage approach as useful when considering chalk figures, the history of which is often obscure, open to interpretation, meaning different things to different people at different times. But there were moments when all the freewheeling became a bit much. The ‘spirit of a place’ thing, for example. I don’t really know what to do with that. It’s impossible to challenge really - I can’t tell someone who ‘feels the spirit of a place’, that they can’t. It’s like they’re claiming an ability to speak to God. How are you going to prove them wrong? Religion is linked to power because of this tendency to base authority on claims that are difficult to challenge rationally.
I say this because it seems likely that chalk figures tap into something similar. They are often seen in areas dedicated to ancient religion and ceremonial. They are beyond normal human scale, like a circle of massive standing stones, therefore suggesting the superhuman. And the images - of horses, crosses, giants, even regimental badges created by soldiers training for battle in the First World War - are linked to power.
Chalk figures might be one of many fascinating sleights of hand used over the millennia to suggest the presence of divine authority. The author of Tattooed Hills does refer to lots of varied information, presents different sides of arguments, and is generally sensible. But… I do wonder if he sometimes get sucked into the grand trickery of his subject. At one point there is less than complimentary mention of the 1980s TV series Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World.
“While mostly careful to stick to established facts, the programme… hints at the uncanny, the hand of the supernatural.”
Ironically, this description could also apply to The Tattooed Hills.
“I know it when I see it, when I sense it.”
The book justifiably defends its collage approach as useful when considering chalk figures, the history of which is often obscure, open to interpretation, meaning different things to different people at different times. But there were moments when all the freewheeling became a bit much. The ‘spirit of a place’ thing, for example. I don’t really know what to do with that. It’s impossible to challenge really - I can’t tell someone who ‘feels the spirit of a place’, that they can’t. It’s like they’re claiming an ability to speak to God. How are you going to prove them wrong? Religion is linked to power because of this tendency to base authority on claims that are difficult to challenge rationally.
I say this because it seems likely that chalk figures tap into something similar. They are often seen in areas dedicated to ancient religion and ceremonial. They are beyond normal human scale, like a circle of massive standing stones, therefore suggesting the superhuman. And the images - of horses, crosses, giants, even regimental badges created by soldiers training for battle in the First World War - are linked to power.
Chalk figures might be one of many fascinating sleights of hand used over the millennia to suggest the presence of divine authority. The author of Tattooed Hills does refer to lots of varied information, presents different sides of arguments, and is generally sensible. But… I do wonder if he sometimes get sucked into the grand trickery of his subject. At one point there is less than complimentary mention of the 1980s TV series Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World.
“While mostly careful to stick to established facts, the programme… hints at the uncanny, the hand of the supernatural.”
Ironically, this description could also apply to The Tattooed Hills.
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
The somewhat sketchy history of Britain's chalk figures are the subject of this – the large-scale formation of iconic images produced by shovelling up the field's mud to reveal the bare chalk beneath. This has the psychogeography of the people who might have made them, and of those who first catalogued and wrote about them, and of those who care for them to this day.
It's fine enough, and is certainly a book with an interesting subject, but I really ended up quite glad there was not more of it. The draft I saw told us what the Ridgeway is several times, and I felt some musical asides, autobiographical sections and a rather needless "empire=bad" diversion could have been trimmed. And I think there was scope for more of the mystery and intrigue of these places – a lot of them live alongside prehistory, even if they are not strictly part of it, and the sheer bizarre nature of the landscape full of standing stones, barrows, and – if we must – ley lines was underplayed here.
In the end this is a personal trek, a look at what this author sees as the response to the stones. They are, after all, the same material as the cliffs evoked so often as stalwart defence against the non-British, and they do symbolise some kind of spurious definition of Britishness. The book ends worried it will be the wrong kind of Britishness going forward, and hopes jingoistic nationalism doesn't take them on board. Surely it's better, however much we end up knowing about them and their makers, that they remain the intriguing designs they've always been, there for us all?
Three and a half stars.
It's fine enough, and is certainly a book with an interesting subject, but I really ended up quite glad there was not more of it. The draft I saw told us what the Ridgeway is several times, and I felt some musical asides, autobiographical sections and a rather needless "empire=bad" diversion could have been trimmed. And I think there was scope for more of the mystery and intrigue of these places – a lot of them live alongside prehistory, even if they are not strictly part of it, and the sheer bizarre nature of the landscape full of standing stones, barrows, and – if we must – ley lines was underplayed here.
In the end this is a personal trek, a look at what this author sees as the response to the stones. They are, after all, the same material as the cliffs evoked so often as stalwart defence against the non-British, and they do symbolise some kind of spurious definition of Britishness. The book ends worried it will be the wrong kind of Britishness going forward, and hopes jingoistic nationalism doesn't take them on board. Surely it's better, however much we end up knowing about them and their makers, that they remain the intriguing designs they've always been, there for us all?
Three and a half stars.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
A lovely book on the myth, the past, the present and the future of Cerne Abbas Giant, Uffington Horse and many other chalk figures on British hills. It weaves in pop culture from Julian Cope to George MacDonald Fraser and XTC, and Fortean eccentrics like T.C. Lethbridge, always with curiosity, empathy and inclusivity (well, excluding right-wing asshats). Makes for a fabulous double feature with Zaskia Sewell's FINDING ALBION.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
The Tattooed Hills is a journey through Britain’s chalklands is part travelogue and part cultural history, exploring the legends and landscape of Britain’s mysterious chalk figures. Beautifully written, this book is full of humour and affection, exploring our history, our land, and the links that contribute to our national identity. If you’ve ever wondered about chalk figures and appreciate a bit of “chalky weirdness”, this is the book for you.
Note: This book was published 9th April.
Note: This book was published 9th April.
Review of advance copy
As someone from the chalk landscapes of Wessex, the hillside carvings in this book have been familiar to me since childhood, but it taught me plenty I didn't know, in an entertaining way illuminated by the characters the author meets on his travels. Really enjoyed it.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews