Flowers Barrow in the mist, Anne chasing ghosts away
Whenever I look at the high chalk ridges in Purbeck, with their tumuli, ancient earth works, wind sculpted, lichened, trees - I see in my imagination past ages and peoples -
I have a definite view about this - it seems to me, that if you look closely enough - listen carefully enough - then you will surely smell wood smoke, still lingering in the rainy air, over the sites of lost villages - you will see wreckers' lamps, flaring in the dark - you will hear carols sung in churches lit by tallow candles, not by electric lamps - you will hear the the sound of hooves, thumping upon turf -
When we walked, Penny, Anne and myself, along the ridge to Flowers Barrow, I felt that the boundaries between the present and the past were become porous - a sea mist blew in, over the chalk cliffs, the steeply shelving beaches - up onto the high path, over gorse bushes and small yellow flowers, bright amongst the damp grass -
We could see, to our right, the fields and woods below, blurred by the mists, shadowy, remote - a greyish white film obscured the sky - to our left was the sea, hidden by the cliffs, still and cold -
Before us was the headland upon which Flowers Barrow was shaped - the hill fort dates from the Iron Age - sling stones and bones have been found in a pit near the western entrance - the Romans occupied it after their invasion -
A pall of mist hung over the rounded hill - its summit was hidden in the chill vapour - I felt as though we entering a hidden world -
We went through the gap in the earth ramparts, past the deep ditches, into the centre of the hill fort - the mist swirled over our heads, moving northwards - below us, we could see Worbarrow Bay, with its crescent of coarse sand - at the far end of the beach was Worbarrow Tout, a steep cone of wind lashed grass, connected to the shore by a low lying neck of land, still set about with tank traps left over from the last war -
As we stood there, looking down at the sea, the mist cleared away - sun sparkled upon the waves - later, after we'd half slid and half scrambled down to the beach, Anne swam bravely in the sea - chasing the ghosts away -
Whenever I look at the high chalk ridges in Purbeck, with their tumuli, ancient earth works, wind sculpted, lichened, trees - I see in my imagination past ages and peoples -
I have a definite view about this - it seems to me, that if you look closely enough - listen carefully enough - then you will surely smell wood smoke, still lingering in the rainy air, over the sites of lost villages - you will see wreckers' lamps, flaring in the dark - you will hear carols sung in churches lit by tallow candles, not by electric lamps - you will hear the the sound of hooves, thumping upon turf -
When we walked, Penny, Anne and myself, along the ridge to Flowers Barrow, I felt that the boundaries between the present and the past were become porous - a sea mist blew in, over the chalk cliffs, the steeply shelving beaches - up onto the high path, over gorse bushes and small yellow flowers, bright amongst the damp grass -
We could see, to our right, the fields and woods below, blurred by the mists, shadowy, remote - a greyish white film obscured the sky - to our left was the sea, hidden by the cliffs, still and cold -
Before us was the headland upon which Flowers Barrow was shaped - the hill fort dates from the Iron Age - sling stones and bones have been found in a pit near the western entrance - the Romans occupied it after their invasion -
A pall of mist hung over the rounded hill - its summit was hidden in the chill vapour - I felt as though we entering a hidden world -
We went through the gap in the earth ramparts, past the deep ditches, into the centre of the hill fort - the mist swirled over our heads, moving northwards - below us, we could see Worbarrow Bay, with its crescent of coarse sand - at the far end of the beach was Worbarrow Tout, a steep cone of wind lashed grass, connected to the shore by a low lying neck of land, still set about with tank traps left over from the last war -
As we stood there, looking down at the sea, the mist cleared away - sun sparkled upon the waves - later, after we'd half slid and half scrambled down to the beach, Anne swam bravely in the sea - chasing the ghosts away -
No comments:
Post a Comment