Weird as all this seems, there must surely be a logical explanation for it. We find a second trapdoor in the other place identified by the rods, hiding more stones. I later discover that the church may have been built on the site of an earlier sacred place. My mum tugs at a trapdoor under one of them that I hadn’t noticed before it conceals a partially buried sarsen stone – the same type used to construct Stonehenge. As I walk around the internal perimeter, the rods repeatedly swing out wildly to the sides in two specific locations. Unnerved, but still aware I may be spotting patterns where none exist, we head into the pretty All Saints’ Church. We do it again, and it happens in the same two spots. Then I ask her to do it again, but more slowly this time, they cross in two of the three locations – but no others. The first time she walks quickly, and the rods don’t cross at all. I allow my mum to stride off ahead, secretly noting each place where the rods cross, and then I pass her the rods and ask her to retrace our steps.
Re-engaging my sceptical brain, we continue along a footpath following the stream.
She directs me to a small bridge over a stream, as as I cross, the rods swing towards each other.
#Dowsing rod garden story how to
My mum hands me a pair of metal rods, and shows me how to hold them, gently but firmly, the long ends pointing forwards. Hearing such anecdotes, I feel open to the possibility that dowsing might be able to detect water – even though my inner sceptic says there’s no logical explanation for it. Joining us on this excursion is a photographer, who recounts how a friend recently called out the local water company to fix a leak in his back garden, and the engineer used dowsing to locate the stopcock. Linda Geddes (right) being introduced to dowsing by her mother Isobel in a Wiltshire churchyard.
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