North Stoke

Song for Gwydion

When I was a child and the soft flesh was forming
Quietly as snow on the bare boughs of bone,
My father brought me trout from the green river
From whose chill lips the water song had flown.

Dull their eyes, the beautiful, blithe garland
Of stipple faded, as light shocked the brain;
They were the first sweet sacrifice I tasted,
A young god, ignorant of the blood's stain.

R.S.Thomas

Last night I read through some of the modern Druidical literature, in my usual curious way, intrigued by the factionalism of this modern belief system, did it have a core at its root belief, well I did'nt find it and must add it to my long list of belief systems that blossom and eventually fade. The Christian church followed the same way also, the early Celtic church disappeared beneath the waves of its stronger foe the Roman Catholic church, and England inherited a watered down version in the Protestant faith.
So the above poem written by that most miserable of Welsh priests R.S.Thomas, is not the one that should be here, but is taken from his early memories of childhood as he takes on the 'guilt' factor in his life.
Why the photo of the church, well it is Great Bartlow in Cambridgeshire I think, and it is very symbolic for me, in the sense that the one path leads to a church but if you were to follow the left hand path you would come to the pagan Roman burial mounds, some of the largest Roman burial mounds in North Europe.
Four lie surrounded by woods but a short distance from the church, there is a feeling of neglect about the barrows but that is probably all to the good. Rich pagan burials a couple of hundred metres from the church, a bit like Avebury church, caught in the ring of the henge and stones, a clash of belief systems.