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Mystical England 2004 - From Land's End to London (Part 2)


This segment follows Jeff and I through Fernworthy Forest, out to the Greywether stone circles, and to various spots in Glastonbury.

Clint Marsh
Berkeley, Calif.

* * * * *

"Midnight at Noon"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo11moss.jpg

Moving deeper into Fernworthy, I was struck at how little light filtered down through the pine canopy. It was the middle of the day, but it was impossible to make out the scene very far into the forest. The darkness, mixed with the thick carpet of moss, brought out more of the fairytale nature of Fernworthy and I lay on the ground for a while in an attempt to conjure up the feeling Nick Bottom had when he awoke after Shakespeare's fairies had switched his head for that of an ass.

"What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the fairy queen?"
—Robin Goodfellow, A Midsummer Night's Dream

* * * * *

"Swath"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo12swath.jpg

Another photo of Fernworthy Forest.

* * * * *

"Froggymead"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo13froggymead.jpg

Soon we were at Fernworthy Circle, also known as Froggymead. Why it has this name, I don't know. The ground was very soggy the day we were there, perhaps the mud attracts frogs. Processional rows led into and out of the circle. Strolling the circle after walking through the incredibly mossy forest gave me a real sense of decomposition and rebirth. Froggymead didn't particularly move me, but it was interesting to note that an entire forest had been planted around it.

* * * * *

"In the Footsteps of Dawn"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo14pony.jpg

Jeff and I passed a pair of Dartmoor ponies as we left Froggymead on our way to the far edge of the forest. The horses were squat, shaggy, and docile, but didn't let us near enough to touch them. I was reminded of the legends of the Unicorn and also of the Phooka, the Scottish shapeshifting fairy that sometimes appears in the form of a horse which offers drunks a ride home, only to take them careening through the countryside and dumping them in a ditch, where the unfortunate riders are found the next morning by the constabulary—or in the best of the stories—their wives. The pine needles obscuring the pony's eye in this photo give the picture extra Phooka undertones.

* * * * *

"Great Varracombe"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo15varracombe.jpg

At the edge of Fernworthy Forest we found ourselves on the edge of Great Varracombe, a windy expanse of uneven tufted moorland. Jeff's map showed our next destination—the twin circles of Greywethers—as somewhat to the north of where we exited. Although we couldn't see anything that appeared to be the formation, we started walking in that general direction. Soon we found ourselves on a faint path of grass just a bit darker and bent than that in the rest of the pasture, and as we walked along I picked out the stones perched on the peak of the next hill. We reached Greywethers about half an hour later.

* * * * *

"Greywethers"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo16greywethers.jpg

Greywethers calls to mind a meeting place, and historically this is just what it was, the tribes from the north and south valleys communing here. I hope the ancients' treks there were worthwhile, because the walk to Greywethers had exhausted us modern travelers. As Jeff took photographs I fell asleep in the center of the northern circle. It was peaceful in there, but windy. A strong wind was blowing when I woke up a little while later. Jeff was asleep in the other circle, so I sat outside with my back against one of the stones, which didn't make as good a windbreak as I'd hoped. As we walked away later, Jeff said he thought he'd slept in the "girly"of the two circles.

* * * * *

"Glastonbury"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo17abbey.jpg

The next day we drove to Glastonbury, a town I really enjoyed for (or was it in spite of?) its hippy vibe. After lunch and shopping (Glastonbury is where I picked up many of the terrific pamphlets I found on the trip), we headed to the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. Churches in Glastonbury have wild histories—they were always under construction and demolition. The Abbey began as a small church that was expanded more and more before being hammered down by the locals during the reign of Henry VIII. That's Jeff checking out the remaining masonry.

* * * * *

"The Once and Future King"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo18arthur.jpg

Jeff's more skeptical about this little signpost than I, sucker for myth and legend that I am. Here until 1191 AD lied Arthur and Guinevere, or if you believe Jeff, here lied the monks of Glastonbury Abbey, who stretched the truth to encourage tourism and boost the coffer. At any rate, the legend lives on, and we joined the queue to visit the Abbey and pay our respects to our once and future king. One of these days he will crawl out of the soil and lead England back to its place in the sun.

* * * * *

"Down to the Well"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo19chalicewell.jpg

The oasis of the Chalice Well was a welcome stop on our way during our walk from the Abbey to Glastonbury Tor. The Well is near the place where Joseph of Artmathea buried the Holy Grail, and as such the water that issues forth from the well has magical properties. For a while you could drink from the spring and enjoy eternal youth, but apparently this drinking experience has gone the way of scrumpy and the public bar. Why?

All of Glastonbury has a New Age–mystical vibe to it, which is all right, I guess, but the bliss takes away from the gritty necessity for resting places like the Well. People need water and encouragement for the harrowing hike up the tor. We filled a liter bottle before setting out.

* * * * *

"The Trek to the Tor"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo20trektothetor.jpg

Glastonbury Tor lies outside of town, and from the top you can see miles and miles of farmland and villages. A solitary, abandoned church tower remains atop the Tor now, but at one time it was part of a church that, like the Abbey, fell victim to Henry VIII.

The Tor itself has been home to Gwyn ap Nudd, the fairy Lord of the Underworld. It is also the starting point for the Overland Mallet Club's annual Glastonbury Trounce.

We sat atop the hill for awhile, taking in the view and feeling the exhilirating wind and refreshing sunshine on our faces, before beginning the long walk down. Next stop, Avebury.

* * * * *

Next month: Avebury & environs.

Clint

Weblog

Mystical England 2004 - From Land's End to London


In late March 2004 CE, my friend Jeff Hoke and I traveled to England for a week among the ancient mystical sites of Cornwall and the West Country. Here are some notes and links to photos from our trip.

Another version of this journal can be found at http://www.wonderella.org/articles/england2004

Clint Marsh
Berkeley, Calif.

* * * * *

"The North Inn"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo1northinn.jpg

After landing at Heathrow, Jeff and I rented a car and drove six hours to get to the far Western tip of Southern England—Land's End peninsula in Cornwall. We stayed at The North Inn in Pendeen. As an inn, The North has a bar, food, and rooms upstairs. Two brothers (John and Andrew Coak) operated the inn, which won the 2003 Pub of the Year Award from the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA). The ale was a welcome reward after all that traveling. In fact, I think one of my happiest moments from the entire trip was when Jeff and I sat down with our pints and finally relaxed. Tinner's and Tribute were two of three cask ales on offer at The North Inn. I liked Tribute the best. After a few pints and dinner, we went for a stroll outside. Within a few minutes we were walking down a pitch-black country lane. If we kept walking I'm sure we would have met the Cornish version of the Phooka and been offered a ride home.

* * * * *

"Mother Chûn"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo2chun.jpg

Our first full day in England was spent exploring several of Cornwall's mystery sites. Before setting out we discussed local lore with Andrew as we ingested our first English breakfast, a delicious monstrosity I will describe later. Our first stop was at Chûn Quoit, a seven-foot-tall stone hut situated on a hilltop near Trehyllys Farm. We drove in through the barnyard and parked the car before hiking up the hillside. We met a woman on the trail, and she guided us to the site and talked with us briefly before leaving. I snapped a few photos before getting an awesome urge to crawl inside this intriguing formation. It wasn't easy going, what with the opening less than two feet across. Inside, I sat and wondered how and why Chûn came to be, and who would have cobbled together this stone mushroom. Was it built by a group of astronomers seeking to make a calendar? A local shaman or wizard who needed a home? Spriggans (Cornish giants) playing a game of stone tossing?

After ten minutes of speculation I was no closer to an answer than when I'd started, so I decided to leave the Quoit. This too proved difficult, requiring me to lie on my back and kick and drag myself out. I paused about a third of the way out and stared up at the fifteen-ton stone above me. It was then and there, with each of my arms holding on to the massive thigh-like stones on either side of my, that the meaning of Chûn hit me. This was a birth experience! I called Jeff over to tell him, then pulled and kicked the rest of my body into the sunlight. Jeff clambered in for his go-round, and I stood staring at the stones. One minute later I was bawling my head off, overwhelmed by the full force of Mother Chûn. I cried for a good five minutes, paused, then cried some more. I felt nothing but Connectedness and Love and it was then that I believe my journey truly began.

* * * * *

"Men-an-Tol"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo3menantol.jpg

It would take a lot of doing for the next (or any) site to top what happened at Chûn Quoit, so perhaps I didn't approach Men-an-Tol with enough openmindedness. Located a few minutes' drive from where we parked to visit Chûn, Men-an-Tol is an arrangement of three stones—two uprights on either side of an amazing holed stone. The holed stone has a seam near the top that makes me think of the alchemical tail-devouring dragon Ouroboros. The stones are all about three feet tall.

What do they mean? The formation said something to me about transitions and changes, about moving from one state to the next through an experience. That and sex. Men-an-Tol is like a stony threesome, and playing with the etymology I called it "Men and the Hole" while we were there. Jeff took a photo of he and me shaking hands through the center stone and then we left to let a pair of lovers enjoy the site with their blanket and bottle of wine.

* * * * *

"Lanyon Quoit"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo4lanyon.jpg

Lanyon Quoit just sort of jumped out at us as we were driving away from Men-an-Tol. It's right next to the roadside in a tiny field. The formation is similar to Chûn in that it is a roofed stone structure, but Lanyon is much more open, resembling a walking beast or a table more than a hut. Apparently Lanyon used to be fourteen feet tall, although one of the stones fell apart in a storm in 1812, so it was rebuilt at its current height of about seven feet. The capstone hangs off as if to point toward something on the horizon, what it could be Jeff and I couldn't figure out. While we were there we met a sprightly young woman who told us tales of a Pagan wishing well and stone church just up the road, so after paying our respects to Lanyon we made for that site.

* * * * *

"Hankies at the Wishing Well"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo5wishingwell.jpg

One short drive and a muddy hike later Jeff and I were standing at one of the most peculiar sites we would visit. Moss-coated trees and rocks created a small, rich forest above clear streams and pools, and there were bits of clothing on the ground and hanging from tree branches.

According to the woman who directed us here, the pools have healing qualities. If a person is suffering from aches and pains they can tear a portion of their clothing from the area that hurts and hang it from the tree in hopes of a magical cure. If that's true, then there must be one hell of a sinusitis epidemic in Land's End, because most of the scraps seemed to come from people's handkerchiefs, although I did see a few single shoes on the ground nearby, nearly engulfed completely by the rapidly growing moss. I spent a little contemplative time in the nearby stone church, a roofless structure about fifteen-by-eight feet with a low stone altar at one end and a baptismal font with naturally flowing water on the other. Peaceful.

* * * * *

"Reflections of Home"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo6reflections.jpg

Before we left the small forest surrounding the wishing well, I asked Jeff to take a photo of me on this green little bridge above the water. The bent trees and the streams and tiny waterfalls here reminded me of childhood romps through my family's woods in Iowa.

* * * * *

"Voices at Merrivale"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo7merrivale.jpg

Our final stop before dinner was at Merrivale near the beach at Dartmoor. It was very foggy and even a bit rainy here, surprisingly so after the morning's sunshine. Even in such miserable weather, we bought ice cream cones from a truck on the beach before driving up to Merrivale. The site is huge, made of two very long double rows of small stones, a number of monoliths, and at least one stone circle, all spread out over several hundred yards. Jeff trekked out to the far end of the formation and I stayed behind to walk the rows and have an invigorating puff of my pipe.

As I began to smoke, I noticed a number of voices around me—the babbling of a stream that cut between the stone rows, the bleats of dozens of sheep wandering around the site, the sizzling gurgle of my pipe, and the lost murmurings of ancient ghosts who were once men, women, and children gathered at this site. The stone rows here were named "The Plague Market" in the seventeenth century, when locals brought food here for the banished victims of the Black Death. But this wasn't just a hospital. Merrivale must have been a meeting place of great vivacity and life. I pictured processions, dancing, and children running in circles and laughing while their parents talked of weightier matters.

* * * * *

"The Cott Inn"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo8cottinn.jpg

After leaving Land's End, we made for Totnes, the town where Jeff went to art school thirty years ago. He was itching to stay at the nearby Cott Inn (est.1320), which he remembered as being a bit out of his price range as a student. During our time at the Cott and some other bars we visited in Totnes, Jeff commented on the death of the public bar. Traditionally, the public bar had a stone floor, darts, and no food. Women and wealthier patrons frequented the lounge bar with its carpeted floor and dinner options. Try as he might, Jeff couldn't find a proper public bar in all our many visits to pubs and inns during the trip. Cott Inn proprietor Dave Sorton (a voracious stamp collector with an acute fear of snakes) said that the public bars were phased out over the past twenty years. We also tried in vain to find a few pints of locally produced scrumpy, the smooth country cousin of hard cider. Where have all the best parts of England gone? It's all kind of sad, really.

* * * * *

"Thatched Homes of the Stars"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo9froud.jpg

Over the past year or so Jeff has gotten to know some associates of one of my personal heroes, the artist Brian Froud. Froud is best known for his work on the book Faeries with Alan Lee and his conceptual work for "The Dark Crystal" and "Labyrinth." We were hoping to drop in for a visit with him and his wife Wendy at their home near Chagford on our way through Devonshire to Fernworthy Forest, but it turned out he was in the States that week. Maybe next time.

* * * * *

"Trolls"
http://www.wonderella.org/images/mysticalengland/illo10trolls.jpg

Despite being a planned forest, Fernworthy is dark and mysterious, the trees and ground covered in a luxurious layer of moss. Brian Froud's art makes a lot more sense once you've seen this area, because it's easy to make out fairy faces in the stones. We passed these mounds on the way to Fernworthy stone ring, and they reminded me immensely of Sean Äaberg's drawings of forest trolls with their long noses jutting out from underneath shaggy manes of lichen. Perhaps these unlucky fellows were napping outdoors when the Ministry of Forestry came by and cut the canopy away, petrifying them with sunlight.

* * * * *

I'll continue the photo album next month with notes from Fernworthy, Greywethers, and Glastonbury.

Clint
A few of my favorite things:
Alchemy
ale
bacon
books
cooking
illuminated manuscripts
kabbalah
small press
walking sticks
whisky
wizards

Clint

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