The Musicians of Langton Matravers ...

Last Sunday, Anne and I went to Langton Matravers Village Hall - we heard austere medieval German carols, furious jigs, exquisite laments - the two musicians were Chris Newman, who played guitar, and Maire Ni Chathasaigh who played harp -

It was the harper's name that drew my eye in Wareham Library - it was a name, I thought, of savage and ancient lineage - 

I imagined a raven haired woman, gazing at a dark storm tossed sea - later she would leap into the waves, jewelled with spray - the sun would be setting behind ice shattered mountains - 

We drove to Langton Matravers in the dark - never had the night seemed so jet black, the plunging lanes so narrow - 

But the village hall was warm, glowing with light, jam packed with shining eyed oldsters - there were photographs on the walls of the school teachers who'd taught here, fiercely corseted, in their dark dresses -

Maire did not disappoint me - she had a wicked smile, a lilting brogue, cascades of wild hair, tumbling over her white forehead - she wore a savage black dress that clung to her figure - around her neck was a heavy silver necklace - her big strong fingers plucked at the strings of the golden harp - 

Chris Newman, in his collarless white shirt, was a genial virtuoso, an apt foil to the statuesque harper - he was, I think, the better musician - his guitar sounded at times like a sizzling fiddle, then a haunted cello - 

The performance ended with a lament for Eleanor Plunkett - the notes of the harp were like icy tears, or frozen kisses, each one perfect -