Tag Archives: Old Cornwall

Departing…

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With the afternoon heading inexorably

towards evening at a pace…

and a two-and-a-half hour drive

before our next hostelry

ahead of us…

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We probably did not really have time to explore…

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But I am so glad we did.

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Deep within the Forest of Yore…

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We discovered a Clootie Tree…

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And an Old Celtic Chapel.

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Citadel of the Sun…

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‘There is a certain atmosphere about the place,

an echo of a life that is hidden deep in the recesses of the mind.’

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“Brown Sign!”

The Green Goddess lurched violently as she swung around the almost impossible corner, before her steady growl returned, and then a roar of satisfaction as she contemplated yet another ‘worm-hole’ through the space-time continuum…

“What is Carn Euny anyway?”

“It’s a prehistoric village.”

Forthe first time that day the mist which had descended with our arrival began to show signs of lifting.

And beyond it, the sun…

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It was hard to believe that anyone else could have found the place but in amongst the well positioned stones and wild grasses, a lone baseball cap bobbed.

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Patience can be key but when patience fails a well turned chant usually does the trick.

We did have a date with the tides to consider, after-all…

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“And the Fogou?”

“Is up for grabs.”

“Grain storage?”

Snort

“Last line of defence?”

Snort again.

“I’d say this was a sweat lodge. Bring in hot stones. Pour on water…”

“…And journey to the Spirit World.”

“It still retains its air of sanctity.”

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And just as we started to chant the sun shone in…

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A visit to spiral castle…

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Although we didn’t know it at the time,

Ballowal Barrow is a ‘Faery-Fort’.

It is situated close to a now disused tin-mine

and miners, during the late nineteenth century,

upon finishing their night shift, are said to have seen

lights burning over the barrow and faeries dancing there.

It would explain the sense of caution with which we approached the site.

Getting on the wrong side of the Faery-Folk is never advisable.

And it did feel like we were being watched, observed, or monitored, by something.

Still, as our intentions at these places are generally honourable we managed

to escape with our wits, more or less, intact.

Though, curiously, for the evening was still young, our sojourn there signalled the

end of adventures for that day.

Perhaps, they had some thing in store for us on the morrow…

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Traced by Angels…

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‘Of wheel-tracks there were none just strange,

narrow paths across the moorland.’

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With the dust well settled over the Living Land Workshop, and already two days into our vacation, we found ourselves in search of a map.

A big map.

One which showed in greater detail the ways and by-ways of Old Cornwall.

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We had done well that first day, discovering a goodly number of the most obvious and easily accessible sites…

But this was going to need precision.

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We had a name.

We had a description.

We even had a picture, and now, we had a good map.

We could not fail, could we?

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‘A very special place’…

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The Eskimo has over fifty words for snow…

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Carn les Boel, is marked on the map as a hill-fort but it is very different from the two ‘hill-forts’ we had just encountered on our Workshop…

It is difficult to imagine anyone living here, although, doubtless a presence would, in former times have been maintained.

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The stones, predominantly erratic, have been judiciously supplemented, and in case we had arrrived with eyes wide shut the avian populations seemed keen to call our attention to the ‘salient points’…

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These days we do not have to be told twice…

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Although, ‘The Dragon’s Breath’ was proving restrictive…

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Our request for clarity was graciously accepted…

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Albeit briefly…

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And why is Carn les Boel so special?

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It is a place where Dragon Energies meet the sea…

 

 

 

Playing Place…

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Well, it didn’t take us long to get there did it?

But let’s ponder a moment

what this structure could mean…

We could call the two flanking uprights,

Summer and Winter,

or Night and Day,

or Them and Us,

and it would not really matter which was which.

If we did that though, what would we call the holed stone?

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Circle of Stone…

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If ever there was a monument that ought to be regarded as fake.

This is surely it.

So far as we know it is unique,

although there are many holed stones.

The others are usually uprights, stand alone, and have much smaller holes.

But if it is authentic, and we have never come across

any suggestion that it is not,

then it is an indication that the ancients

ritualised, and that they thought symbolically.

This should not come as a surprise.

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Yet Another Disappearing Stone…

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“It’s got a ‘wen’ in it!”

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And if we had not already twigged

that really should have clinched it!

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“How are they pronouncing it anyway?”

“‘Bosk-a-Noon’ – ‘The House of the Elder-Tree.'”

“They’re ignoring the ‘wen-bit’ then.”

“Or, we could just call it hidden.”

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“How do they do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make a stone that size disappear.”

“Well, at least it’s not yet started walking…”

“Or dancing…”

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By the time we left, though,

all the stones in the circle had begun,

what we call, ‘morphing’…

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And somewhere a horn was sounding.

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“If I didn’t know better,

I’d say the Wild Hunt was abroad.”

 

Avenues…

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And from Needles of Stone,

to Avenues,

or at least, what remains of one…

The ‘Mary Line’

runs right through the two stones

which had ‘called’ to us from the roadside,

And would once have been ushered by the avenue stones

into the Avebury Ring.

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