After a disappointing weekend (the "Writing About The Past" course not coming up to expectations), two lovely days over the border walking with my husband and the dog. And plenty of inspiration there! On Wednesday we climbed Skirrid Fawr, the last outcrop of the Black Mountains. The area abounds with myth and legend, the most striking of which is the story of how the mountain got its name. In Welsh the mountain is called "Ysgyryd Fawr" - the shivered mountain. The gospels tell how, after the cruxifiction, "darkness fell upon the land" - and in far away Wales, the mountain shivered and shook, part of it sliding downhill to form Skirrid Fach (Little Skirrid). Thus the earth on the mountain was considered holy and especially fertile; it used to be scattered on fields, on coffins and on church foundations. Pilgrimages would be made to the summit. Definitely a poem in that to go with my Celtic myths project!
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| Skirrid Fawr |
Then a very different walk yesterday - exploring the area around the Whitebrook, a hive of industrial activity in the Victorian era, now a tranquil, wooded valley with all the scars erased. Or are they? Perhaps no longer scars, and well hidden amongst the trees and shrubs, suddenly you come across the ruined remains of an old mill, the contours of ancient quarrying. So many stories buried beneath the bluebells and anemones that carpet the woods there today - an interesting challenge to resurrect and tell some perhaps.
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| What stories could it tell? |
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