The 1923 edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map showed a small subcircular shape, carefully indicated with hachures, the cartographic shorthand for a raised or sunken edge. It looked, on paper, like archaeology.

When someone finally went to inspect the site in 2002, the enclosure turned out to be neither ancient nor intentional in any ceremonial sense. What the map had captured was a natural rocky ridge that had at some point been quarried for stone. The subcircular outline was real enough, but its origins were geological and practical rather than prehistoric. It had sat in the Sites and Monuments Record from 1992 and in the Record of Monuments and Places from 1996 under a classification it did not merit, a small administrative fossil of misreading. The story is less about the place itself than about how a contour on a map, copied forward through successive records, can quietly accumulate the weight of official designation before anyone walks out to look.