Tag Archives: Albion


France & Vincent


Eight dragons watch the landscape, gazing out across the land

To where the lines originate and guarding where they stand

An ancient story carved in stone depicts old myths and new

To show that though the story shifts, its essence still holds true,

Just as the church’s sacred heart hides Mysteries untold

Carved figures point the way to finding spiritual gold.

Beyond the painted windows where the secrets are concealed

Held in the arms of Nature is Divinity revealed;

For as above, so is below, and as without, within…

There is more to the Crucifix than pardon bought for sin.


Beck ‘n’ Call

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France & Vincent


We had watched the ferry moored

as we waited to disembark.


And its something we do by habit

down south…

Always returning via Avebury.


We had never thought to do it up north,

until ‘nudged’ ‘cross country to do so…


Breaking Meg’s sibling embrace,

this time was like a plasma pulse

of realisation.


Her new ‘tatt’ now shadowing

the line connecting her

with both Callanish and Arbor Low.


“We had to tie it in!”


“That’s why we’re here!”


“It might have been nice to know that before hand?”


“Where’s the fun in that?”

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Dreaming Stones: Drawing in the threads…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

I turned the car down a narrow lane to greet Long Meg and her Daughters.  Leaving Kirkoswald church, we had taken the route we have travelled so often towards Penrith. We had driven up and down this road, backwards and forwards, on previous visits, on the reconnaissance trip for the Cumbrian workshop and during the workshop itself. We know this road… every tiny turn-off, every place of interest… we even pointed out a few of them and reminisced. So it had been rather disconcerting to find that the most important sites along it had been screened from consciousness until we were almost upon them and waved, in passing, to the circle known as Little Meg.

Little Meg

Between one fleeting glimpse of the stone circle in its isolated field and the next side-road is a mere matter of seconds to drive… just long enough for a quick ‘should we?’

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Sticks ‘n’ Stones…

France & Vincent


For the last three workshops

we have tried to incorporate some continuity…


In Dorset we worked with Planets.

In Cumbria we worked with Vowels.

In Derbyshire we worked with Colours.


All of which can be linked.


Nice then to have rainbows ‘stalk us’ on this trip…


… Which, as we have tried to emphasise,

had very little pre-planning

at an organisational level, at least, on our part.


Even when things appeared most dire…

We invariably found we were face to face with,

a rainbow!


Wen started referring to them as ‘ironic’.

Which, clearly, they were not.


Despite also not being made of girders,

They did act as a weird sort of tonic or spur.


But even here, on the last leg

of our trip,

we could have

taken a wrong turn.


“But this is the road that passes Long Meg.”

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Dreaming Stones: Filling the cup…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

We pushed open the door to St Oswald’s church. It is still with a feeling of anticipation that we cross the threshold of these ancient places of worship. Churches that look incredible from outside have sometimes been so unsympathetically restored and reordered over the centuries that they lack all character. Others, with unpromising exteriors, reveal wonderful things at their hearts… we never know what we might find.

St Oswald’s church in Kirkoswald is an old one. It is likely that there was an early church on the site before the current building was begun nine hundred years ago. Nothing now remains of the original building, which would probably have been made of wood, though a fragment of a wheel cross, inscribed with an eight-pointed star and around twelve hundred years old, still rests in a window embrasure.

In the nave, the Norman columns remain from the twelfth century church, but…

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The Matter of Britain…

France & Vincent


Could there be an image more redolent

of the true majesty of these isles?


We are minded of the church at Kilpeck

with its famous and resplendant Sheelagh…


The fact that we had failed to get here

last time, or had been prevented,

seems indicative of a grace earned

which graces never are…


More accurately, perhaps, of a labyrinth trod,

blindfold from beginning to end,

with only child-like, inner promptings, as guide…


There’s even a ‘Merlin’ shuffling about

the kirk-yard,

his questing beast,

leashed, for walkies.


“Good After-Noon!”


It is now.


The chalice is gravid to hold,

snug to the hand-cusp,

the water clear,

and pure,

and cold,



 Ah, Calanais!

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Dreaming Stones: From the depths…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

We could see, as soon as we passed through the gate, that the church in Kirkoswald was going to be a good one. The village itself bears its name… Oswald’s church… and the dedication was given because the body of the sainted Northumbrian king had passed through the village after he was killed by Penda, the last pagan king of Mercia, at the Battle of Maserfield, fourteen hundred years ago.

We have crossed St Oswald’s path many times before. It was he whose relics had rested in Bamburgh Castle, which we had visited during the Northumbrian workshop, and he who had given the island of Lindisfarne to St Aidan, whose shrine we had also visited on that trip.

There are many tales of miracles associated with St Oswald, some of which have overtones more often associated with pagan, rather than Christian, myths . Perhaps the best known is that…

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France & Vincent


… “That’s the church we nearly used in December for ‘Full Circle’.

It was on the back up list in case it rained heavily.”


“I thought the name sounded familiar.

I didn’t realise we were so far down already.”


“It’s got a well in the graveyard!”


“I remember. We didn’t get in though did we?”


“Nowhere to park.”


Even coming at it the other way and fully armed

with gen from our previous visit we still manage

to shoot past it, and have to double back…


“We were considering pubs for lunch, last time.”


“That’s right, we were.”


“Feels like we could be in Derbyshire,

or Wiltshire, or something.”


“You mean, it feels like home.”

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Dreaming Stones: Finding the way…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

I don’t mind driving on motorways… but they are never my first choice of road. While they do… as long as there are no hold-ups… get you from A to B fast, they do not allow for adventures. You cannot stop to admire or explore the land… you can’t see an unknown road and turn down it on the spur of the moment, or head for that odd-shaped hill on the horizon.  Once on a motorway, you are pretty much stuck until the appointed exit.

The stretch of motorway that runs between Carlisle and Kirby Lonsdale, though, is seldom busy and passes through such magnificent countryside that I am always glad to drive it. With the hills of the lake District on one side and the Yorkshire Dales on the other, I know of few other bits of motorway that can compare. And I know it well; I used to…

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The Eye-Guy’s Eye…

Human Eye


…”I don’t get it.”

“In Geometry, before one can draw a human eye, one has to draw a cat’s eye.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“It’s a process.”

“And in any process things have to happen in a certain order…”

“You said that without using your brain.”

“…First one thing, and then another.”

“And that.”

“But what thing and what other?”

“Ah ha! In this case, Night and Day.”

“Cat’s-Eye and Human Eye!”

“There’s more to it than that though.”

“In what sense more?”

“In a magical sense.”

“Old magic?”

“Well, it would have to be, very old magic.”



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