Housesteads ...

We'd followed the dark spine of the Wall downhill from Kennel Crags to Housesteads - 

We lay upon the grass, delving into our packed lunches - a moody crocodile of foreign students went by - cagouled dads ate ice creams - lean walkers slid free of their back packs - 

I remembered how I'd visited this place before, some years ago - I could picture my pale shape, sitting in a Mondeo in the car park - 

Standing by the praetorium, I wondered how many ghosts of our earlier selves we leave behind us - 

The sky filled with clouds - 

***

The grandest station in the whole line - in some stations the antiquary feeds upon shells, but here upon kernels 

William Hutton
The History of the Roman Wall
1802

July 9 2014

Housesteads 

Bromlee Lough ...

I gazed westwards from Sewingshields Crags - it was early afternoon - Julia wrapped her silk scarf around her head like a keffiyeh - she'd been telling me about the muleteers - 

They threw their saddles down - they started firing their pistols into the air - during the night a wild boar tried to get into my tent - 

Clouds shaped like voloptuous airships moved across the sky - Bromlee Lough was a dark blue mirror - 

Sheep nibbled thistles - earlier, we'd seen some rams - they'd looked at us with their strange yellow eyes - 

I thought of the silver tetradrachm, depicting Alexander as Zeus-Ammon - 

9 July 2014

Sewingshields Crags

Sewingshields Crag ...

Walking along Sewingshields Crags, we saw three kestrels, beautiful terrifying shapes in the air - a chill wind blew from the north - wild thyme scented the lower courses of the Wall - 

The Wall snaked from crag to crag, rising and falling, just as it had done in my dreams - 

Warriors had carried their banners here, peered out northwards over the debatable lands - 

Later, other battles had been fought - the deeds of saintly kings were remembered in ecclesiastical histories -  

I recalled their names, and those of their kingdoms, Bernicia, Deira, Northumbria, Dalriada, Mercia - 

History, I thought, was very close here, welling up like peaty water from a hidden spring - 

July 9 2014

Sewingshields Crags

Sewingshields Farm ...

We were drawing nearer now to more rugged landscapes, closer to the sky - 

We had left behind us sheltered valleys, with their gentle fields and rich earth - 

Windswept crags overlooked empty moorland - terns hunted for fish in icy lakes - 

Our path along the Wall took us to Sewingshields Farm, past the ruins of Coesike Turret - 

The farm was almost hidden by a dark wood - torn tapestries of moss covered the slate roof - 

I thought of Cold Comfort Farm - perhaps, any moment, a trim aviatrix would step out into the sunlight - 

12.00

9 July 2014

Sewingshields Farm

Leaving the Old Repeater Station ...

Les served me my full English on a plate the size of a praetorian's shield - I'd slept under my skylight, dreaming of gentle temple girls - 

Outside, it was like a day in Panama - yesterday's rain clouds were now a memory, a scrawled paragraph in my notebook - 

Through the window, I tried to follow the dizzying darting flights of swallows - 

Les came in from the kitchen - he'd heard me telling Penny about the swallows - 

He spoke softy - when they go, I know it's the end of summer - 

9.00 

9 July 2014

The kitchen

The Old Repeater Station

Drinking Golden Plover in the Old Repeater Station ...

We waited, chilled and dripping, whilst Penny rang the doorbell of the Old Repeater Station - 

The heavy rain continued to fall - I wondered if our bags had been delivered to this remote house -

My spray jacket was saturated - I'd worn it last on board The Indian Wizard - the Bora had been blowing - the yacht was keeled right over, quivering like a passionate animal - 

The door opened - Les beckoned us inside - he had the grizzled beard of an old salt - there were pictures of Merchant Navy ships upon the walls - 

We hung up our waterproofs inside the drying room - we drank scalding reviving northern tea - I peered at a barometer and at maps of the Wall - 

Les was a man of few words - he regarded us with his calm appraising seafarer's gaze - 

He recommended I try some Golden Plover - I drained the bottle within moments, ready then for fish pie and sticky pudding - bumpers of northern red followed, then stories and laughter - 

I recalled the words in the guide book, describing our host - 

- the affable laconic Les ... never less than generous with his teapot - 

And, I thought, with his Golden Plover - 

8 July 2014

Lolling in The Old Repeater Station

Reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane ...

The engine of Mike's customised Golf was a shining marvel - it thrummed and roared with awesome power - when you were being driven at speed you thought you were in the cockpit of a Messerschmitt 262 - 

Mike would race his Golf at night along floodlit urban motorways - other bold Golf drivers would try in vain to overtake him - 

Mike gave me a copy of Neverwhere - I read it in one sitting - I'd always been aware of that other worlds existed - I longed to meet the Lady Door - 

This week I read The Ocean at the End of the Lane - I'd taken the book with me to Hadrian's Wall - 

Once again, I read the book as if I were gulping down a bumper of False Bay Pinotage or chilled Sancerre - but this time, I was far more deeply moved - 

I sat barefoot in the garden, overwhelmed by what I'd read - the pain and the beauty of the fable filled my heart with a sweet anguish - 

I thought of my own childhood, of the mermaids and witches I'd found on the stairs - 

July 25 2914

Under the apple tree

The old School House

East Stoke

The Temple of Mithras

There seemed little to see at Brocolitia -  we picked our way through the long grass - butterflies with sombre wings flew before us - we brushed against waist high thistles - there were clumps of sedge where our boots sank into damp earth - 

Only vague shapes or foldings in the marshy ground hinted where the fort had been - we looked in vain for the site of Coventina's Well - sheep with oily tangled fleeces ran from us - 

But, on the far side of the site, there was the Mithras Temple, open to the sky - 

We made our way there, stumbling over the uneven ground, entering blithely the place of secrets - 

I stood near the three altars - one still bore the likeness of a hero or a strange god - 

I remembered reading about the primeval bull - 

Here, the initiates had held their rites - 

Julia sketched the altars - I watched the wind make shapes in the grass - 

July 7 2014

Brocolitia

Walking from Chesters to the Old Repeater Station ...

As we drew nearer to the Old Repeater Station, it started to rain - dark clouds were gathering over the windswept uplands - soon it was raining hard - icy raindrops stung our faces -  

I saw a plantation of firs upon a hilltop - sheep huddled in the lee of dry stone walls - reservoirs were shards of glass - 

Sumptuous tour buses roared along the narrow road, barely avoiding us - 

We were getting wet and cold - I was filled with a longing for northern tea - 

We fell in with the lean Californian once more - he was making for Grindon Farm - his wife and son were working as volunteers on the dig at Vindolanda - 

Earlier that day, we'd lingered at Limestone Corner - our quirky guide book told us that this was the northernmost point of the Roman Empire -

We sat upon the ageless grass, looking out over the beautiful empty land -

18.00

July 8 2014

Approaching the Old Repeater Station

Chesters ...

My gaze was drawn at once towards the carving of the boar - a woman with grey eyes heard my awed gasp - 

There it was, running for its life - I could smell its desperate breath - I felt the power of its anguished eye - 

I turned to see three nymphs, serene in their stone - their swift river still ran past the ruins of the fort - fierce warriors had sought grace at their shrine - 

I was at Chesters, warming myself in the small museum - my rucksack was full of homely things, a banana, a slice of fruit cake -

Outside, under a clearing sky, I wandered amongst the ruins - 

I stood inside the shell of the bath house, not far from the river - bright turf lapped the ancient stones - 

11.30

July 7 2014

Chesters

 

 

The Roman Bridge at Chollerford ...

 

We sat like border reivers at the long wooden table in East House - black dogs gambolled at the feet of the athletic wife who brought me my full English - 

We were charmed by a young Australian couple - their son was called Felix - he gazed at me with his beautiful fearless eyes - 

Dizzying coffee zinged in the cafetiere - Alyson told me stories of her school days - 

Soon we had to say goodbye to our newfound friends - Felix was nestled in his sling, suspended from the neck of his willowy mother - 

By the time we were scrambling over the remains of the Roman bridge, the warm rain had stopped - 

After a while we found the phallic symbol, carved low upon one of the abutments - 

Julia smiled - once you've seen one, then you've seen them all - 

10.30

July 8 2014

The Roman Bridge at Chollerford

East House ...

The lane to East House led us uphill, away from Chesters - wild roses and ferns hid shy birds - we could hear their voices - it was early evening - 

Sheep grazed in fields enclosed by lichened dry stone walls -  

I slept that night in an attic room, under the roof of the Georgian House - I opened the skylight to look at the waxing moon - 

The next morning, we explored the walled garden - inside the glasshouse, there was an ancient vine - 

We walked upon lawns chilled by dew - shining greenery enfolded a glittering pond - 

Nymphs, I thought, might choose to dance here - 

9.30

July 8 2014

East House 

Lincoln Hill

Chollerford

Brunton Turret ...

We were dropped off at The Robin Hood Inn early Monday morning - the doors to its welcoming bars were shut  fast - glasses of wicked ales had yet to be poured - Richard Green still smirked on his sign - 

We'd got our Hadrian's Wall Trail Passports stamped there yesterday - I'd stared gleefully at the emperor's inky face - 

We met Julie and Paul, Alyson's friends, who'd driven up from Manchester - Julie ate wild raspberries as we walked towards Wallhouses - 

We climbed high stiles, gazed upon wild flowers with their magical names -

That's Lady's Bed Straw Penny would say - and there, that's Bird's foot trefoil - 

Young nettles stung my legs - I savoured the resinous scent of pines - 

Julia told me about spending a Christmas Eve in Nepal - she'd sat by the porters' fire, singing them a Tudor carol - 

We lingered by a stretch of wall, just beyond Heavenfield - the lichened stones were warm and smooth - 

Outside Chollerford, we made our way up a sunlit field -

I scrambled over the remains of a turret like an eager boy, joyous and looking for wonders - 

July 7 2014

Brunton Turret

Chollerford

The Vallum ...

As we walked from Newcastle to Bowness on Solway, the four of us, laughing, talking, marvelling, the Vallum was never far away - 

I'd be idling for a moment, by a wind sculpted tree, or dreaming by the lichened lower courses of a mile castle, imagining being a lean tribesman with a golden torque - 

Then Penny, or Julia, or Alyson would say  - look at the Vallum - there it is - can you see it ? - 

I'd turn to see the deep ditch, delved by strong hands, still full of lost voices - 

July 7 2014

Before St Oswald's

Vindobala ...

Rough pasture covered Vindobala - sheep grazed amidst thistles and nettles - no keen girl from California was assisting a dig to unearth poignant stone - 

We were on our way to Corbridge - we put down our rucksacks to gaze upon the wind swept grass - 

We all fell silent, each with our different thoughts - 

I thought of my life, and of what I'd cherished -  

I recalled some lines from Apollinaire - I'd read his poems one tender summer - 

Later we passed by a field of wheat - birds flew above our heads -

"Memories are hunting horns

Whose sound dies along with the wind"  

July 6 2014

Vindobala 

Heddon on the Wall after the Australians ...

At Heddon on the Wall, we had our first sight of The Wall - 

We'd walked past silent farms, under dark trees, our boots cushioned by rugs of fallen leaves - 

The Tyne was still deep and wide - two jet skis disturbed its surface - a church spire pointed to heaven - 

Australians took photographs of the Wall with their Korean digital cameras - I saw large faces under baseball caps -  

After fifteen minutes, they were urged onto the purring coach - soon we were left alone, standing by the Wall - 

Clouds moved over the sky - ancient memories, I thought, were like pale fires -

12.30

July 5 2014

Heddon on the Wall 

The Roman Altar at Great Chesters Fort ...

We'd left Saughy Rigg after our second night there - I'd lolled on the huge red sofas, drinking Pennine Pale - 

I spoke to three courtly walkers who had loped up the Pennine Way - 

One of them said - it's always bitter sweet when you come to the end of a walk - you're elated, but you wonder what you'll do next - 

We heard curlews calling out in the air off Cawfield Craggs - they flew off, over treeless uplands - 

At Great Chesters, we saw a Roman altar - worn coins were heaped upon it - I added my own small coin - I murmured my prayer - 

I felt the surface of the wind smoothed stone - horses cropped the rich grass - 

13.30

July 11 2014

Great Chesters Fort

The Vicar's Pele, Corbridge ...

Once a week, in the late 1960s, I would watch The Borderers in my parents' lounge - pale colours would wash over the screen of the new Ferguson - I would fear for the brave border family - the canny Warden would brood in his smoky chamber -

I thought of this series, and of my boyhood, when I saw the Vicar's Pele in Corbridge - 

There it was, a strong tower, with narrow windows - 

Penny's maiden name was Armstrong - reivers had plundered this frontier land - 

I glanced up at the stone walls of the tower - 

Horses had plunged and snorted where now I saw sleek Volvos - 

10.00

July 7 2014

Corbridge

Looking out over the Heavenfield ...

We came across Saint Oswald's Church towards the end of the afternoon - we 'd been following the line of the wall all day, from Wallhouses to Heavenfield -

Sometimes we'd walked through silent woods, each tree like a temple pillar - 

Nettles and wild flowers filled the vallum -  

There was the church, away from the path - I plunged through fragrant grass to reach it - 

Inside the church, there was a Roman altar - 

Outside, there was the Heavenfield - I gazed upon the site of Oswald's triumph - 

Later, his poor bones were a nest of miracles - 

I saw rain, like silver threads, move over the hills - 

16.30

July 7 2014

Saint Oswald's Church

The Heavenfield