Reblogged from Sally Cronin at Smorgasbord:
The original concept of Thanksgiving was one of giving thanks for a new life, new home and new friends and that tradition is celebrated around the world in one form or another by different cultures on various days throughout the year.
Although in Ireland we don’t formerly celebrate Thanksgiving we certainly are not going to miss an opportunity to have a bit of a party.. even if it is virtual.
Continue reading at Smorgasbord
We knew the story. Both James and Paul himself have told how it was found, when Paul and his brother, exploring the moors as children, had come upon the strange passageway…and how the smaller of the brothers had been ‘encouraged’ to crawl down the low tunnel, finding that it led deep within the hill. We knew of the subsequent explorations and of the very strange happenings when, on several occasions, the blocking stone had moved of its own accord.
No explanations have been found, nor have any of the very many archaeologists contacted by James and Paul been able to offer any suggestions as to what the tunnel might be. On this moor completely covered by more archaeology than you can imagine, it is an anomaly; a single, unexplained tunnel in one of the few patches of moorland where there are…apparently…no surviving remains of the ancient culture that revered the land. Finding it, though, even when James knew exactly where to look, was no easy feat with the bracken so high. On top of that, “Even if we are right next to it, if the blocking stone is in place, we’ll never find it,” said James.
We had almost given up when Stuart had the idea of taking bearings from one of James’ photographs. Even that didn’t seem to work. “Can’t you ask the fairies again?” he said, referring to our finding of the elusive ‘wood-stone’. Sure enough, the fairies obliged and a moment later I found the tunnel, complete with its blocking stone in place.
Continue reading at France & Vincent
*
… “You must guard against your propensity to act foolishly, Coyote,” said Death Spirit.
“Yes,yes,” said Coyote, “I will do just as you say, as always.”
“Very well,” said Death Spirit, “you will travel for five days and cross five mountains. Your wife will be with you the whole time but you must not under any circumstances touch her until the fifth mountain has been crossed at end of the fifth day. Do you understand, Coyote?”
“Yes,yes,” said Coyote, “your instructions are perfectly clear.”
When dawn came Coyote and his wife set out.
At first it seemed to Coyote that he was travelling along alone but after crossing the first mountain his wife’s presence by his side became discernible. Like a shadow, she seemed.
The two of them camped each night at the foot of each mountain in a makeshift, portable lodge. Coyote would sit on one side of their camp fire with his wife facing hm on the other side.
With each passing day, and each successfully traversed mountain, Coyote’s wife became more apparent to him.
Back in the Lodge of the Dead, Death Spirit was counting the days, “I do hope Coyote will do everything correctly and take his wife through to the world beyond,” he thought to himself.
Continue reading at France and Vincent
*
Perhaps, taking his cue from what little was left of the Mediaeval originals,
Viollet-le-Duc incorporated and emphasised horns, and claws, and talons,
and tusks, and fangs, and beaks, and raised heckles, in his grotesques.
Even the feathers of the birds resembled scales, or chain-mail.
*
Continue reading at France&Vincent
There was a point at which we realised that we had got it wrong. That the chapter entitled ‘The Triumph of Horsenden’ should really have been’The Triumph of Bledlow’… but not only did it not have quite the same ring to it, it was the triumph that mattered, not the name of the village… and we had already published. Be that as it may, we really should have gone looking for the church at Horsenden sooner… and the elusive church in Saunderton too, so as it was a sunny day, we braved the cold and went to rectify our omission.
The three churches of Bledlow, Saunderton and Horsenden form another of those groupings so close together that it makes little sense. All three were originally medieval and each is a little more than a mile’s walk from the other, so why build them all in such a rural area? The answer almost certainly lies in the presence of the manors.
Manors were not originally houses, though great houses were usually built on manorial lands which had been granted by the Crown to one of his barons or lords. Anyone living within the bounds of the Manor then looked to that lord for justice and paid their dues to him too. It established the position and relationship between free men, serfs and peasants and their local lord who in turn looked to the king for authority.
Each manor would be likely to establish and maintain a church. There were once two manors and therefore two churches in Saunderton, dedicated to St Nicholas and St Mary. By 1442, the Church of St Nicholas was in a very poor state of repair and the remaining church, first built in 1227, took both names and became the church of St Mary & St Nicholas.
There is a lot of hidden history in the area too, from the granary and hypocaust (central heating system) of a Roman Villa on land belonging to Church Farm, which was unearthed in 1938, to a coffin with human remains close by and a number of burial mounds… prehistoric barrows… many of which have sadly fallen foul of the plough over the centuries. Saunderton also housed the workhouse in the eighteenth century and, being such a remote location at that time, was used to house those who had sought to run away from other workhouses. Which doesn’t seem to sit well with a village whose name may have derived from Santesdune, which may have meant “saint’s hill”.
Near the church are the remains of a Norman motte and bailey castle, almost unnoticeable now due to time and vegetation. By 1086 the Bishop of Bayeux held the manor of Saunderton St Mary while Miles Crispin held the manor of Saunderton St Nicholas, both assessed at five hides each… with a hide originally being the amount of land needed to keep a family for one year.
The current church of St Mary & St Nicholas, if you can find it, tucked away behind a nursing home and Trout Hollow, was first built in the thirteenth century then altered and added to throughout the years as is the way of most community buildings. It was finally demolished and rebuilt between 1888 and 1891, re-using as much as possible of the original building.
Photo © Rob Farrow (cc-by-sa/2.0)
Until the pandemic allows churches to re-open, we will not be allowed inside, where we are assured that we will find doorways, windows and the piscina all dating back to the fourteenth century. The font is even earlier and has been baptising the villagers since the 1200s, while the altar stands on medieval tiles that hold a fifteenth century memorial brass and the altar rails are made from an older screen. Recycling at its best.
Photo © Rob Farrow (cc-by-sa/2.0)
The exterior of the church, built by re-using the flint of its predecessor, has an old timber porch with coloured glass windows and is topped by a bellcote whose medieval framework houses three seventeenth century bells.
Photo © Rob Farrow (cc-by-sa/2.0)
The whole place has a lovely, peaceful feel, with chickens mere feet from the war memorial and red kites flying overhead. The names of those lost to the Great War are inscribed on the memorial and Gary Knight has compiled a detailed biography for each of the fallen servicemen, which brings the carved names to vivid life. I hope that we will one day see the doors of this and so many other churches reopen to visitors, for a place where such care has been taken to preserve the past must be worthy of our time and attention.
Photo © Rob Farrow (cc-by-sa/2.0)
(Haiku written as prompt for Colleen’s poetry challenge)
clouds cover the moon,
beyond dawn’s pale horizon
sun rises unseen
Source of hope obscured
Hidden by storm clouds rising
Still casting its light
Reblogged from Hugh’s Views and News:
I’m delighted to welcome Graeme Cumming to my blog. Not only is Graeme somebody I class as a friend, but he’s also a very talented author, writer and blogger.
Graeme’s true story opened up my eyes to something I’d never thought about when it comes to passing on wisdom and mistakes I’ve made in my life to those younger than me. Read his story and let him know how you pass on words of wisdom to the younger generation.
Unlike Bryan Adams, my summer of ’69 had nothing to do with playing guitar. Having struggled to play triangle during a school concert, I think it’s safe to say my musical abilities wouldn’t have stretched that far.
When I chose the wrong moment to hit the triangle, I was even more mortified than I might otherwise have been because my dad was in the audience. He didn’t tend to turn up for school stuff because of work – not many dads did back then.
Continue reading at Hugh’s Views and News
It is not every day that you can go on a real adventure to see a genuine, bona fide mystery, but that is exactly what we were going to do on the last day of our trip. We had been promising ourselves a bimble with our friend, James Elkington for a long time and finally, we had the chance to do so. The weather was windy and overcast, but at least it was dry as we set off…for the time being.
James is a fabulous photographer and a man who loves the moors around Ilkley as much as I do… and knows them far better than I. My knowledge goes back to childhood and is rooted in love and long-ago memories. James lives close to these moors and knows them intimately.
Which is just as well, because we were looking for something very small and very well hidden in a vast sea of heather and bracken that would seem featureless to many eyes. Even James, who knows where to look, would have trouble… But first, we had to get there and it was going to take a while.
We met on a blustery morning at the Cow and Calf rocks. This part of the moor is often busy, it is a popular place with climbers, tourists and casual walkers. It is also surrounded by ancient sites…rock carvings, cairns and stone circles, all within easy reach of the cafe and car park. The vast majority of visitors to these moors stay within sight of the road and seldom venture above the first ridge. We were going deep into the heart of the moors, far beyond anywhere I had walked since my youth.
‘A bimble’ sounds gentle enough, but don’t let it fool you… we walked for seven hours and a goodly number of miles, all told… and it was wonderful. We revisited many of the sites we have used during Silent Eye workshops on the moors over the past few years, but I also saw places I had not seen in decades.
It is a landscape I love with all my heart. I will not detail the route we took or the places we visited…because of the site we were heading for. I have written so much about these moors and their archaeology that I would be repeating myself for the umpteenth time. Suffice it to say that our route left the main path behind and headed off into the bracken.
Continue reading at France & Vincent
The more the Orkney archeologists uncover, the more it is certain that the settlement on the Ness of Brodgar was the hub of a dynamically influential and spiritual society, 5000 years ago… For example, what’s this pyramid…. yes, that’s right, pyramid?
(1700 words, a fifteen-minute read)
(Above: Illustration of Structure 10 by Kenny Arne Lang Antonsen and Jimmy John Antonsen)
That can’t be right, I thought, looking at the image, again…
Three thousand years BC… Five thousand years ago. That’s a long time, I mused. But I knew that Orkney was ancient, and that the importance of its early civilisation was only just coming to light…
Continue reading at The Silent Eye
*
… When the Fenians had risen and come out the following morning, Fin approached Brown, Black and Grey and said, “Do you have anything to relate from the watch last night.”
So, the three newcomers told their respective stories and at the end of their tale Brown and Black handed Fin the knife and cup which they had retrieved.
“You have done great work,” said Fin, “we are sure to have the best eating and drinking from now on,” then turning to Grey he said, “the fate of the old hag, though, nags at me, that third young giant may well return and visit trouble on us all.”
For twelve months after Fin Mac Coll and the Fenians of Erin hunted for sport alone and at the end of that time, Brown, Black and Grey went their way.
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Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 