Brigantia - The Forgotten Goddess of the North
Journey into the ancient landscapes of northern Britain and discover Brigantia, the forgotten Celtic goddess whose quiet strength, sacred places and enduring spirit helped lead me home.
"Sometimes the journey isn't about finding a new path. Sometimes it's about discovering you have been walking the same ancient path all along."
For many years, I believed I was searching.
Searching for meaning.
Searching for healing.
Searching for a connection with something older than myself.
Looking back now, I wonder whether I was never really searching at all.
Perhaps I was simply remembering.
Long before I ever travelled to Ireland.
Long before I stood beside Brigid's eternal flame in Kildare.
Long before I drank from the sacred springs of Glastonbury.
There was another presence quietly walking beside me.
A goddess whose story has almost been forgotten.
Her name is Brigantia.
And although history remembers her only in fragments of stone, carved inscriptions and ancient place names, I have come to believe that she never truly disappeared.
She simply waited patiently among the hills of the North.
Waiting for me to recognise her.
The Goddess of the Brigantes
Nearly two thousand years ago, one of the largest Celtic peoples of Roman Britain lived across what is now northern England.
They were known as the Brigantes.
Their lands stretched across Yorkshire, Lancashire, Cumbria and into what is now County Durham, with influence extending into Cheshire and the Pennines.
To the Romans, they were a powerful confederation.
To themselves, they were simply the people of the North.
Watching over them was a goddess whose name appeared on carved altars left by Roman soldiers and local worshippers alike.
Brigantia.
Several Roman inscriptions dedicated to Brigantia have been discovered across northern Britain, including at Birrens in southern Scotland and Corbridge in Northumberland. These carvings show that she was honoured well into the Roman period, sometimes depicted with a spear and shield, sometimes with symbols of victory or abundance—an image of both protection and sovereignty.
Her name is generally understood to mean "The High One" or "The Exalted One," suggesting not only the high places of the landscape but also spiritual elevation.
She was a guardian of land, people and identity.
A goddess of strength.
Not strength expressed through conquest.
But through steadfastness.
The kind of strength that quietly keeps watch through generations.
The Bright One
It is impossible to ignore how closely Brigantia's name echoes that of Brigid.
Both names share ancient Celtic linguistic roots associated with brightness, height and exaltation.
Many scholars believe they descend from a common Celtic source.
Whether Brigantia and Brigid were once understood as the same goddess, regional expressions of the same divine figure, or closely related deities remains an open question.
History does not give us a definitive answer.
For me, that uncertainty is part of the beauty.
Because spirituality is not always about certainty.
Sometimes it is about recognising familiar light shining through different windows.
Coming Home
When I began travelling to Ireland, I believed I was discovering Brigid.
Now I think she may have been leading me back to someone I had known all along.
My roots are in the North.
The landscapes that shaped me were not the green plains of Kildare.
They were the rugged hills, ancient tracks and windswept places once walked by the Brigantes.
As I learned more about Brigantia, something quietly settled inside me.
It felt less like discovering a new goddess...
and more like remembering an old friend.
Suddenly so many pieces of my journey made sense.
My love of ancient places.
My instinctive pull toward standing stones.
My fascination with forgotten histories.
My desire to protect rather than conquer.
To create rather than consume.
To build sanctuary.
These weren't new parts of me.
They had simply found their name.
The Bridestones
As my journey continued, I found myself looking more closely at the landscape that had shaped my own childhood.
Growing up in Cheshire, I never imagined that traces of Britain's ancient past might have been waiting so close to home.
One place that has completely captured my imagination is the Bridestones, a remarkable Neolithic chambered tomb perched high on the Cheshire–Staffordshire border near Congleton. Dating back thousands of years, it is one of Cheshire's oldest surviving prehistoric monuments, although much of the original cairn was dismantled over the centuries for building materials.
I haven't visited the Bridestones yet, but it's a place I know I'll make a pilgrimage to the next time I'm back in Warrington. There's something deeply compelling about ancient places like this—places that seem to carry echoes of stories we no longer fully understand.
What fascinates me most is the name itself.
Some historians believe "Bridestones" preserves a local folk tale about a bride turned to stone. Others have wondered whether it could preserve a much older memory of the Brigantes, or perhaps even Brigantia herself. There is no definitive evidence for this interpretation, but the possibility is enough to spark the imagination.
Perhaps history isn't always preserved in books.
Perhaps it lingers in place names...
In weathered stones...
In landscapes that quietly refuse to forget.
The Bridestones have become one of those places that I feel drawn towards, and I hope one day to stand there myself.
If you've ever visited the Bridestones, I'd genuinely love to hear what it felt like. Did the place speak to you in any way? was it easy to find?
Perhaps the path I thought had begun in Glastonbury...
...had really started much closer to home.
The Women Who Remember
History often remembers kings.
Battles.
Empires.
Yet it is usually women who quietly keep traditions alive.
The women who tend the hearth.
Who pass on stories.
Who gather around wells.
Who light candles for those they love.
When I imagine Brigantia today, I do not see only a warrior standing upon a hill.
I also see the women who carried her memory through ordinary acts of courage and care.
The mothers.
The healers.
The artists.
The keepers of the flame.
Perhaps that is why Brigid feels so familiar.
The flame of Kildare and the hills of Brigantia belong to the same wider landscape of memory.
One reminds us to tend the fire.
The other reminds us to stand our ground.
Together they teach us how to live.
House of Bridie
When I began making candles, I thought I was creating beautiful objects.
Now I understand that I was creating something else entirely.
A reminder.
Every flame carries a memory of Kildare.
Every drop of sacred water carries the memory of pilgrimage.
And every piece I create carries something of the North.
The quiet strength of Brigantia.
The enduring hope of Brigid.
The invitation to remember where we come from.
House of Bridie has never really been about candles.
It has always been about bringing people home.
Perhaps that is what Brigantia has been whispering all along.
That we do not always have to travel across the world to discover where we belong.
Sometimes the oldest part of ourselves has been waiting patiently in the hills…
the rivers…
the standing stones…
and the forgotten names of home.
Sometimes we don't discover our path.
We simply remember it.
Further Reading & Sources
- Miranda Green – Dictionary of Celtic Myth and Legend
- Barry Cunliffe – The Ancient Celts
- Roman Inscriptions of Britain (RIB) – Dedications to Brigantia
- Journal of Antiquities – The Bridestones, Timbersbrook, Cheshire
- Anne Ross – Pagan Celtic Britain
A Closing Blessing
Thank you for walking this part of the pilgrimage with me.
May Brigid's flame warm your hearth.
May her waters bring you peace.
May Brigantia give you the strength to stand firmly in your own truth.
And may the ancient paths always lead you home.
With love,
House of Bridie
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