Treading up close to the figures they are curious in their giganticism. The turf cut and the earth dug, the shovelled tonnes of chalk, stone, or cement, their place set in the larger landscape and sky. They seem to me to express human labour, a communal agreement of effort over the centuries to create and maintain. Villagers and farmers, soldiers, housewives and children, academics and artists, friends. Recent archaeologists have found The White Horse of Uffington’s minimalist curves and trenches have been continually scoured and tended by communities across its whole 3000 years.