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.
Great poem Barry! Thanks so much for sharing it. Good work.
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