Tag Archives: meaning

Dereliction…

France & Vincent

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…That night Jed’s ‘derelict’ appears in the bed-room enveloped in an aura of light.

He slowly crouches and whispers in my ear:

” ‘E cummin outta dem bushes shinin’,

‘e shinin’ like sum black buff sun.

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‘E donna wear no tatter and tare, no spray inniz ‘air.

‘E sittin pretty an’ neat.

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‘E neat,like new minted craze.

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Dat ear-ring glow hee’z a showin,

talkin mantin dat mooved to pierce dat ear.

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An dat finger-der-tappin,

tappin tall tales on da-bone of de stick.

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De walkin stick of de lizard man.

‘E ooold an he no sum trick wit de sky…

De slyyy lizard man.

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Daaat iz why ‘e  talkin iz cunny tales

‘e talkin dem cunny tales to rayze a smile.

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He starts to cackle loudly, his

white teeth shining in the dark.

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” Dem not angels givin baaad dreams

Sri Papa…

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Found Mounds: the Call of Albion…

France & Vincent

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‘…Maybe it is because it is our third visit or maybe it is because there are three of us, or maybe we had to work out the St Andrew thing before we were allowed to ascend, who knows?

Whatever the reasons, we re-convene on top of the man-made-conical-mound which hides behind the Church of St Nicholas, High Bradfield and Wen has an interesting take on proceedings.

“If St Andrew of Scotland is Andrew the Disciple of Christ then he may have come over here with Joseph of Arimathea.”

“And remember at that time there was no Scotland. Scotland was North Albion!”

“North Albion,” smiles Wen, “I like that.”

“Why did they come here?” says Ned.

“If we knew that…”

“If we knew that, then what?” says Wen.

“If we knew that for sure, we’d probably all be millionaires,” I say, somewhat wistfully.

“Not necessarily,” says Ned, who may already…

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Found Mounds…

France & Vincent

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‘…We didn’t go to High Bradfield to look for a mound we went to High Bradfield for the church there but we found a mound anyway.

It was hidden behind the church and was purporting to be a disused Motte-and-Bailey.

It was also overgrown with curly trees not unlike those we were surrounded by when looking for the Chat-Stone, now lost…for the moment at least.

I am doing the mound itself something of a disservice here because it is not actually purporting to be anything other than what it is, how could it do otherwise, but the ‘authorities’ for want of a better word are now passing it off as a disused Motte-and-Bailey and have been, perhaps, for some considerable time.

Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions upon the dictates of authority and as there have been excavations at the site which did indeed uncover large…

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Papal Bull…

France & Vincent

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Celtic Saint instrumental in the Eucharist of Fish and Loaves?…

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The Venerable Bede recorded in his Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, a copy of the letter written in 601AD which Pope Gregory sent to Abbot Mellitus, who was part of the papal mission to Britain. The instructions were clear… not to overthrow but to gently replace the indigenous faith:

“…that the temples of the idols in that nation ought not to be destroyed; but let the idols that are in them be destroyed; let water be consecrated and sprinkled in the said temples, let altars be erected, and relics placed there. For if those temples are well built, it is requisite that they be converted from the worship of devils to the service of the true God; that the nation, seeing that their temples are not destroyed, may remove error from their hearts, and knowing and adoring the true God…

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Telling Stones…

France & Vincent

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…Gazing into the depths of the reflection the moving torches seemed to open the gates of vision and she saw herself in an Other-Where…

Dressed in strange garb, looking across time with other eyes, watching herself made her feel dizzy and strange, as if seeing two landscapes, one in darkness, another shrouded in the mists of morning…

She tied the horsehair plait about her wrist, her mind swimming in the dreaming…

There were more than two worlds here…

There was a shape, a head echoed in the place where she stood…

Which shape was also high on the hilltop where it had been carved into the chalk – The water below was a gateway to another world…

And yet another world crested the hilltop, up behind the palisade.

There was a secret world too…

A world that few others knew…

A world where the ancestors lived…

It lay beyond…

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Overkill Hill…

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Never look back!

It is good advice, unfortunately, in story-telling this advice, when given, is never adhered to.

Orpheus…Lot…Dr Faustus…

They are all concerned with Soul.

The Soul that turns to look back is caught in time.

It may be an ‘intention thing’, like trying to serve two masters, do not walk one way and look the other.

There are any number of mythological monsters depicted in this way to prove it.

Tiamet…Nergal…The Dread Beast of Mercia.

The hero ‘slays’ them all, by moving forward.

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But going back to take another look, that is different.

That is part of going forward.

And it is also inevitable.

This time we inadvertently found ourselves following our own advice from one of our books.

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We started at Hordron’s, that hoary old receptacle of time, went on to Strines, the ‘Peacock Pub’, and finished up at the Old Horns Inn.

And this time when we got to Bradfield, ‘Castle Hill’ was illuminated.

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No need to wonder where we will be heading next then.

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But first, we had another encounter with one of our mounds to experience.

We needed more photographs.

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And photographs…

Were duly forthcoming.

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Once we had braved the curiously over friendly sheep…