In the ranks of Death you'll find him.
His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.
'Land of Song,' said the Warrior Bard,
'Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee.'
The Minstrel fell, but the foe-man's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under.
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords assunder. And
Said, 'No chain shall sully thee, thou
Soul of Love and Bravery. Thy songs
Were made for the pure and free,
And shall never sound in slavery.
(This is from memory and not necessarily
correct -- I wrote it because I wanted to!)
HARRY PATCH, the last surviver from the 1st W.W. died last year agge 111 (anothe 11 nunber!) He is buried locally, down the hill from where we live in Combe Down.
It is fabled that Joseph of Arimathea on his visit to Britain in the year A.D 63 brought the Holy Grail to Glastonbury. It was here that his staff took root and budded miraculously on Christmas Day. Almost as miraculously, an off-shoot of this tree is in full flower in our garden right now, along with masses of red berries. As you walk beneath it you breath in its sweet honey-lemony scent.
It has been a wonderful autumn this year, especially for the range of colour in the leaves.
A few days ago Micheal and I took a trip - about an hour's drive from Bath - to a lesser-known
area of Wiltshire known by the locals as, The Golden
Triangle, because it sits between three A roads.
There are a few minor roads crossing the triangle
so very little traffic passes through.
Ancient Inns, big country estates, and pastoral landscapes
take you into a world which is, or was, typical of Southern England. M. spent 3 days here on a recent course given over to the work of Marie-Louise Von Franz called
The Way of Dreaming. He stayed in a splendid house, met
some inspiring people and ate lushious vegy food, all among
the glory of the autumn leaves, rolling green pastures, surrounded by lakes, on one of the estates down here. He was so taken with it all that he brought me to see it
This is from a local village Inn, The Angel, and depicts another legend; Saint Michael, or The Archangel Michael killing the Dragon.