Martinmas

Oncoming Winter's journey must be taken

By foot, horse, carriage, ox-pulled cart

To stand before dawn at the thing-stead

Earth home of the old boney-man;

Cross of Knightlow, weathered holy stone,

Way marker of miles & years fast-fading.

Wind & rain, sleet & snow,

Fast frosts fall sharp towards the end of night

To make the journey out of the warm inn,

Farm kitchen, lodge house, stable yard;

A cold & weary way

That you must take to meet your obligation.

Down the Fosse from Hopsford

Up the Fosse from Princethorpe & Stretton

& Harbury with their legendary 2 shillings & 3 pence ha'penny

Armies marched here, time long ago

& even before, when it was green-way on a stoney ridge

The cattle drover sought his ancient North.

Down Stretton Lane from Wolston

Up London Road from Toft & Woolscott

Up the old Cov road from Ladbroke & Long Itchington

All the way over from Arley & Astley, Bramscote & Churchover

Bubbenhall, Birdingbury & Weston under Wetherley

A wild road, for company, staff & sword.

A wild road, a dark way

A passage herdsmen follow

Seeking pasture or market-days in squares;

So you must follow too, marking signs

To pay your wroth, your troth, your worth

White-silver protection money to land-earls.

The wild ox shuns company;

She'll charge the noble lord; blood!

A single minded fighter, she'll redden herself if she can

Veins roar the tune, hard to lead,

Head-tosser, earth-stamper

Voice wind heard over centuries.

& now we come,

Out of villages, suburbs & cities

By shiny car, shiny hood pulled up

Fortified by coffee, toast, porridge, milky tea,

To stand where they stood

Fulfill a different kind of duty.

Down the A45 before Dawn

Why do we come?

To this once central, now almost forgotten field

To stand in rain around a stone; cross long gone?

We owe no dues to any landed lord

Come & go as we please

Unafraid of any wild-forest denizen;

Our wroth & troth & worth held by the bosses & banks

Our cattle shipped by red-lit lorries

Modern roarers, dodged by the side of the A45

As we filter past the abandoned garage,

Ruined Goji, somnolent driveways,

Converted cottages.

We come in part to honour those who came before

To stand where they stood & remember them

We're an ancient people standing the test of time;

They are our forebears:

Village elders, farmers, drovers

People of the land who walked this road before us.

For some of us it's in the blood

We're Knightlow Hundred born & bred

We came here with our Mum & Dad

When we were little; a special day

Taste of hot rum & milk when you're ten,

Adventure; story to tell other children.

Many of us are drawn by gravity

The heavy weight of years of folk

Our own lives drawn into the loom

Of local culture, the spirit of the place,

The gathered gloom of season;

Tradition locates us in a wider, deeper world.

So we take the Winter journey

Across the land to the gathering place

Stand before dawn to hear ancient names called out

While in the shadows of oncoming day

We join a greater company

& we ourselves become the ancestors of tomorrow.

Gill & Anne Count the Wroth Money.

This year I am honoured to have been commissioned to write & perform my work at the Wroth Silver Ceremony. It is recorded in the Domesday Book as an ongoing English feudal obligation & is probably the longest running continuous ceremony in England if not Britain. It ceased to be obligatory in 1800 & has been kept alive by local people ever since. I read my poem to 82 people gathered in a local pub for the Wroth Silver Breakfast. Apparently we have raised a twinkle in the eye of the Queen! I also read my Letter to the Unknown Soldier, which you can find below.