I'd read Mervyn Peake's gorgeous feverish trilogy in my early twenties - I'd seen myself, inevitably, as Steerpike - I'd also admired the noble Muzzlehatch -
In my dreams, I ventured across savage roofscapes - I dined with Doctor Prunesquallor - I found wonders in ancient labyrinths - I saw Fuschia, with her yellow scarf and her sullen mouth -
Mervyn Peake seemed to have been as haunted and tragic as his characters - I think that Anne once met Maeve Gilmore -
Penny and I walked up a sodden field, full of sheep and their doomed lambs, towards the tower - it started to rain -
We climbed over a wire fence to look in vain for a door to enter - the tower rose up into the sky, high above us, massive and strange - I craned my neck to look up at its dark windows - vegetation covered turret roofs and cornices -
We stood for some time, held by the mystery of the tower -
We learned later that it was a folly, built for Humphrey Sturt, to serve as an observatory, and as a place from which to watch his hounds -
Note
No comments:
Post a Comment