The dour Cumbrian gardener ...

As we walked westwards, we spoke of the people we'd met - we'd heard many languages spoken on, or near, the Wall - we'd heard many accents - we'd seen clear eyed Amazons from the Tyrol, nimble gaffers from Lancashire - 

My companions were quick to greet these briefly met strangers - 

Each had their own story to tell, some aspect of their life to reveal, by word, gesture, or fold of a cagoule -

But we felt that the Cumbrians were a dour, gnarled, crew - 

An oldster had gazed with stony eyes at Alyson when she praised his garden - 

If you say so he'd said - 

He had a wild circlet of yellowy white hair for a rug - his cottage was next to a dark wood - Baba Yaga could have been hiding behind its tiny windows - 

July 12 2014

Between Harehill and Walton