Tag Archives: photography

St Just…

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Not only did our last hotel

fail to provide any windows, to speak of, in our room,

  it also failed to provide us with a breakfast…

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Which is just as well, really,

for we were up, and off, and away

long before breakfast would ordinarily

ever have been dreamed of…

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However, by nine bells one might be forgiven

for expecting the local sea-front eateries to be offering

something in the way of refreshment?

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Not so!

So, we headed for St Just…

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

‘The Book of Assassinations’

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We were determined not to get wet, so we went to Chesterfield, on the general principle that there would be both indoor parking and a cathedral big enough to keep us both dry and occupied for some time. We got those points right… but we failed miserably in the staying dry department as the heavens open and the chill, northern rain pelted down. As my companion made a judicious dive for the porch, I found a convenient tree under which to shelter the camera and get some shots of the famous crooked spire.

sheffield chesterfield hare 004The church dates to the 13th Century and the tower was added in around 1362. The tower is twisted by 45 degrees and leans 9’ 6” from true centre. Several local legends tell how it became so contorted, many have to do with the Devil and the purported virginity of brides. Wikipedia says : “One well established legend goes that a virgin once married in the church, and the church was so surprised that the spire turned around to look at the bride, and continues that if another virgin marries in the church, the spire will return to true again; with only 3 weddings in 2010 in the church it seems that this legend understandably discourages marriages at the church. Another legend is that a Bolsover blacksmith mis-shoed the Devil, who leaped over the spire in pain, knocking it out of shape.” There are others, and it is well worth looking some of them up.

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I didn’t linger too long under my tree. It was raining quite heavily and my feet were already squelching in the little slippers I habitually wear for some strange and unfathomable reason. You would think I would have learned by now… Even the pigeons had given up and had taken shelter where they could, so I too followed their example.

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For all the church has been embellished over the centuries, being the foremost building in the area, it still retains its atmosphere of calm peace, and every nook and cranny inside hides symbols and artistic treasures, bits of history and the evidence of the faith of hundreds of years…

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

The watchers

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We were being watched. It was palpable. In fact, as I raised the camera to watch the watchers, others could see it too… we weren’t imagining it. They had been following us all day, dark, hooded figures flitting in and out of vision, all across the Derbyshire landscape. Sitting on fences, following our footsteps, watching our every move at every site we visited. We even had evidence in bag and pocket… and the camera had quietly documented their stealthy observation…

Sitting in the little courtyard of the pub in Castleton, by some miracle on the part of my companion, the staid half of shandy I had reluctantly asked for had been transformed into a nicely chilled Stowford’s … I love Derbyshire!… and we were surrounded.

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There were jackdaws on the low rooftops, on the chimneys… whole families of them, including the young one that misjudged and went flying in a way that failed to involve wings.

I snapped away happily while the pint of Guinness and half of Stowford’s slowly disappeared, then passed the camera across to my companion so he could see the day’s photographic haul. As always I wait, judging his reaction by the tilt of his head and the set of his lips.

“We’ve got our Dark Sage.” …

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

‘Fact-Checka’! …

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“The only thing

mutating

is the lie!”

Count Jack Black

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 A Questionable Science:

Love and Death in the Time of COVID 

by Stuart France and G. Michael Vasey

‘The Gallows and Gibbet Inn’, proclaimed the sign, which singular nominal ought really to have aroused, if not my shackles then, at least my suspicions. 

Too late, Anu was already tugging me over the threshold into the warmth, and the light, and the sound of voices, and music…

…They were all in there!

Black Jack Davey… Teigue-the-Fool… The Miller’s Son… The Sorcerer’s Apprentice… H.R.H. the Lord of the Elements, and one-hundred-and-one other far less savoury characters.

Most of them in their cups. Reprobates all! And what a tale they had to tell.

If you have ever wondered why all the public houses are shut.

You had better pull up a chair…

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Now available in paperback and Kindle formats on Amazon

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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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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Holy Scions…

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Given that we were now checking out the ‘Michael Line’,

One might have expected some sort of ‘Angelic Support’…

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But even by our standards,

The send off assumed ridiculous proportions…

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It also offered unexpected vindication

for our speculations in the ‘Doomsday Trilogy’…

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A ‘Glastonbury Thorn’.

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DOOMSDAY

The Aetheling Thing     Dark Sage   Scions of Albion

All books available via Amazon in Paperback and for Kindle

Don and Wen, following the breadcrumb trail of arcane lore and ancient knowledge, scattered across the landscape of time, turn their attention to the myths and legends of Old Albion. They delve into the tales of King Arthur, asking some very strange questions about biblical family trees and exploring the many stories that abound in the very landscape of Avalon. Meanwhile, in Derbyshire, the voices of the past still whisper from the stones, opening a passage through time, place and memory to another world…

 

Doomsday: The Ætheling Thing

How is it possible to hide such a story… the hidden history of Christianity in Britain? Oh, there are legends of course… old tales… Yet what if there was truth in them? What was it that gave these blessed isles such a special place in the minds of our forefathers? There are some things you are not taught in Sunday School. From the stone circles of the north to the Isle of Avalon, Don and Wen follow the breadcrumbs of history and forgotten lore to uncover a secret veiled in plain sight.


Doomsday: Dark Sage
…. something was spawned up on the moor… something black that flew on dark wings. It heeds not time or place… but it seems to have developed a penchant for the travels of Don and Wen….
“Are those two still at it?”
“Apparently….”


Doomsday: Scions of Albion

Things are getting serious…

Exactly what is Wen doing with that crowbar and why is she wearing a balaclava?

All will be revealed…or will it?

Follow the story begun in The Initiate and the Triad of Albion,

as Don and Wen explore the ancient land.

Clues…

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“Well, it has taken a while, but I think we can be fairly certain that this particular example of the symbolist’s art has something to do with the number eight.”

“‘Fairly certain’? ‘Something to do with’? It is hardly the stuff of science, now is it?”

“Symbolism, by its very nature, is much more than science, and much less too.”

“You are not making much sense.”

“It is open like an ‘art’, but its precision is less focused and more inclusive.”

“I keep wanting to turn it on its head.”

“Which would give us a… mirror!”

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“And the ‘S’?”

“Stands for saviour.”

“Or a stream.”

“Which flows underground.”

 

 

Chapel-en-le-River…

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“There was one thing.”

“Oh yes?”

“Well, two things, really.”

“These days ‘really’ is not a precise term, but proceed anyway.”

“No, no of course not… it’s just that, it struck me that the stones were conceived as shadows.”

“Shadows of what?”

“The ancestral realm.”

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“And the second thing?”

“We’re being haunted.”

“By what?”

“By a shape!”

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“It’s a Cop.”

“Look again.”

“It’s still a Cop.”

“Or a very big Long Barrow.”

“But it’s a hill.”

“Look again.”

“It’s still a hill.”

“Or a very big Long Barrow.”

“They didn’t build Long Barrows that big.”

“Why not?”

“It’s absurd. It’s preposterous. They simply couldn’t have.”

“They built Silbury.”

“Silbury’s not a Burial Mound.”

“No, but the ‘Archaeos’ used to think that it was.”

“The ‘Archaeos’ are always getting it wrong.”

They think it’s a hill.”

“They thought all the ‘Motte and Bailys’ were mediaeval.”

“Precisley, it’s definitely a big Long Barrow.”

“It’s not definitely anything but what makes you so sure?”

“Numbers.”

“Numbers?”

“Most of the sites hold a lot of people and there are thousands of them. A lot of them would have taken huge numbers to construct and there are thousands of them and yet, the burials are relatively few. Even at the massive sites…”

“Where are all the bones?”

“I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking.”

“Especially on Ilkley.”

“We know Ilkley’s a Necropolis…

“…And yet, there are hardly any cairns.”

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