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I am privileged, I walk.
Up the heathen hill of Harrow I climb, and stare out, across the gravel basin from where I was born.
I spy through the dip in the western ridgeway and out onto the red-land and beyond to the fortress on the rock.
From my vantage point, topographic outlines merge into the grey - on this bleak, mid-winter’s day.
I walk across the heath, from Beltane to the Iron Age camp at Honnington - a rectangular enclosure that presides over the Ancaster gap.
To my west, the subtle, holy hill of Hambleton that rises out of the Withma plain. Even in her barron phase, and with a fine dusting of snow, she still appears plentiful and abundant.
Along the ancient gap, once carved by the ancient trespasser and on to Anna’s encampment, past the British-Romano shrine of the three mothers - once addressed by the young god ‘Veridios’
Along the unrelenting Ermine Street, where in 1998, I was propelled from my bike by the speeding, blood-red god of Peugeot.
Here at the crossroads, I am bewitched by the blind horse of Bayard. No leap of faith is required here, to imagine a chalk-cut steed, lit by the moon beneath the nearby Crone’s well.
In the midst of the land of sheep, I meet the Templar and here, in the centre of the heath I stand in the remains of the circular shrine and I ponder upon the possibilities of a more ancient origin for this designated green and pleasant real-estate.
In the preceptory tower, the Templar, reveals to me the covert cat and the ritual protective runes amidst the carved chaos of the centuries. Beneath my feet, unexplored chambers, that will one day reveal the hidden head - of which I once dreamt.
I walk across the heath, over the rutted, limestone Ermine track, that carves through this sacred land to the low road – a track that marks the eastern boundary to this sacred plateau.
Here at Dorrington, I visit the church of St. John and St. James, a building that now occupies the once sacred space of the ancient shrine of the Teutonic thunder god - Daron-Wy.
The megalithic remains of this shattered temple can still be seen in the form of the Drake Stone, reclaimed from the fields by the Reverend Dodsworth, and placed safely outside the church of
St. Edith at nearby Anwick.
At fenlands edge – this mid-summer shrine presides over sacred marsh. Below me the village of Dorrington – the halfway house that stands as testimony to ‘Duir’ - the stout guardian of the door.
For it is here, until recent times, pastoral epochs were celebrated in the playgarth, beneath the Three-Grained Oak.
But time is not on my side, and in failing light the north wind begins to bite, but unconcerned I draw my winter coat around me, for unlike many of my fellows, I am totally aware of my privilege – and I will walk….
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2. |
A Singularity
00:36
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3. |
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On Brough-Superior I ride
Across this tortured heath - south, to Spittlegate Level
My glance is forever skyward
But I keep this metal stead, straight and true
Can you feel the rush of air?
Can you feel the rush of air?
Beneath this engine's roar I cry, "I am here, I am here."
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5. |
Punk Rock At Brauncewell
03:08
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And rules supreme, a new broom sweeps clean.
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6. |
Short Meg
02:36
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7. |
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Under heavy skies, I walk west along Green Man Lane to the village of Navenby. I leave behind the unrelenting Ermine Street and walk on to the winding, un-romanised road, that follows the cliff edge, a path known as the Jurassic Way.
I pause on my journey at the church of St. Andrew at Boothby Graffoe for here, the sweeping views across the Trent flood plain, are truly breathtaking on this dramatic day. As I observe fast moving clouds skiding above the Trent basin, I am convinced that this Christian shrine, once replaced a Neolithic long-barrow, that, in true Lincolnshire style, was positioned on the slopes below the summit of this limestone ridge.
The cliff path leads me on to one of my favourite places, high above the South Common where the river Witham can be observed running through a gap in the limestone cliff on its journey east to the sea. A sacred pool, now known as The Brayford, was formed when the Witham, hitting the northern bank of the cliff, was forced east to eventually flow out into the flat lands and beyond to The Wash. The first settlements were established around this pool, which is now central to the hub of learning in this expanding city once known as Linden - the people of the pool.
But it is from here on the southern bank of the Lincoln Gap that I stare out across the Witham flood plain over to the magnificent Norman cathedral, set high on the northern bank. The cathedral is not, as many believe, sited on the highest point of the ridge, for this unique spot is accredited to a Norman motte, situated yards to the west, set within the walls of Lincoln Castle.
Since my visit to Maiden Bower – a motte and bailey castle in the Hambleton district of North Yorkshire, I have been convinced that Norman mottes may have a more ancient origin. A sacred mound accommodated and adapted by a later culture for a secular activity. Without the obstruction of the castle walls, this magnificent mound would have been visible to northbound travellers as they reached the Lincoln Gap.
The Gap was a portal to the great eastern marshlands and its presence for the northbound traveller, was an obstacle to breech before they could continue their journey north along the Jurassic Way. In the late Bronze Age and early Iron Age, great timber causeways would have existed spanning this great divide. Evidence of one of these remarkable feats of engineering has been unearthed below the village of Fiskerton on the northern bank. Dendro-chrono-logical analysis has been produced, that suggests that the felling of trees used in the construction of the causeway was coincidental with mid-winter lunar eclipses. This reveals to us that the Fiskerton causeway was much more than a functional bridge.
I am agog at the splendour of the settlement that is now my home. I visit this vantage point daily and witness this breathtaking view in different lights and weather conditions and create in my mind’s eye, an imaginary time-lapse film that traces the steady growth of this city from the early prehistoric camps by the Brayford Pool up to the sprawling city that I witness here today. How many have stood on this ridge and thought the same? How many will stand and contemplate the future.?
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8. |
Washing Molly Grime
05:35
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9. |
Tuffa
04:37
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“Celtic myth tells of a time when Britain was plagued by a strange May Eve scream. It transpires that two subterranean dragons caused the scream during an annual battle. They were soothed by the sinking of mead into a pit, dug through the centre of the earth.”
Here I stand on Sheffield’s Hill, my northward journey along the Jurassic Way, almost complete.
But before I triumph at Humber’s edge I pause at the village of Dragonby, in awe of a natural occurrence.
Snaking through the long, wire-like grass and around hawthorn bush through shade, the dragon’s head emerges into brilliant sunlight and rests peacefully at my feet. No billowing of smoke, no chaotic roar, just peaceful slumber on this springtime day.
But flesh and blood play no part here, for my dragon is stone-cold,
sober and benign – a brilliant freak of nature.
A sand-blown stream, petrified on limestone slopes has given birth to this stone curtain, the sunken church –known locally as ‘Tufa’.
I am astounded that a connection has never been made, between this natural phenomenon and the nearby prehistoric settlement of Risby Warren. How could the ancients, not have perceived the ‘dragon’ as sacred? Surely the dignified separation that exists between the camp and this megalithic edifice underlines this sanctity?
This ridgeway track forms part of the natural progression south to the great chalk exposed ‘dragon’ on the banks of Uffington Camp. Was this megalithic occurrence from the mid-lands an inspiration to the Uffington dragoons of yore?
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10. |
The Field
02:58
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I am walking the two roads
Roads that lead to the sea
I am walking with hindsight
Are you walking with me?
And every road leads somewhere
And every track is free
Walking these ancient hillsides
Are you following me?
And everyone needs Jesus
That is everyone but me
We’re all looking for answers
Its easy – can’t you see.
For we are true to Lethbridge
We cut a path down through the lea
In a landslip of surprises
The five go down to the sea
There are ghosts in the morning air
Its the sunlight that sets them free
There are fields yet to be discovered
Are you listening (are you listening?) to me?
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11. |
Where Two Rivers Meet
02:13
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Freshly cut grass.
I bathe in the warmth of an infant April sun
where an ancients' hand once cut deep this spiral path.
I gaze out, far beyond this grassy ridge and out across fertile marsh
where treasure lies buried deep beneath this silted land.
Touched by this gentle sun, I smile
for it is here that two great rivers meet.
Beyond, the coloured fields form a giant patchwork,
stretched taught, blanketing the gentle, curving Earth.
And in the clear, blue sky above, silent forces work:
changing, pulling and influencing this land.
If I let go of all that I know, I too can become a part
And feel the gentle, covert energies that influence our lives.
A place where words are just useless tools.
Drifting clouds cast fleeting shadows across the ridge
and here I await the perfect light - one that will illuminate the path.
Like those Trojan thieves who laid claim to our spoils
they leave us cold under their dark shadow.
A wave released by a spring moon
will wash away these roman claims of wealth and greed.
Washed clean again - erect and true that mirrors an ancient's hand,
that points to a place, where the two great rivers meet.
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12. |
Humber
07:53
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13. |
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Duir! Nottingham, UK
DUIR! is a musical collective based in the East Midlands, UK that utilise spoken word, music and song to bring alive the
folk memories of Lincolnshire and its environs. Their inspiration stems from myths, legends, folk-tales and topographic features of this rural country.
DUIR! comprise of, Simon Brighton, Stephen Coalwood and Terry Welbourn.
DUIR! photo by Andy Weekes
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