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| Gough's Cave |
Mingin pinging. Already it grabs my intention, written by Paul Waugh on an unexpected silence by BJ at Question Time. But the words evoke misery as we hear that pinging noise now in these times not only on our phones and computers but through the radio as well as the population zooms from their temporary imprisonment at home. It is a sound and words of our time.
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| Cheddar Gorge |
All photos purloined from the internet.
The other word that piqued my interest was moulin, which is a deep hole within ice and something I learnt from Macfarlane's Underland. When you listen to a long book, attention drifts and it is sometimes difficult to draw the threads together. Macfarlane wanders all over the place in his search for the dark underlands. It is a somewhat deep book because in that dark world of the under world we enter the realms of death.
He has that same sense of excitement we all feel as we make our way through our own small adventures, and though I would never crawl along a tunnel fearing the rush of water as the rains gushed above my head, I can remember the excitement of the Mendips not too far from my home in Bath.
The day I took my two children and Tom my grandson for a picnic under the great rock gorge. A plastic box of small sausages, another of potato salad and then tomatoes. We went to the Cheddar cheese company and Tom strolled round in disgust and during his childhood refused to eat cheese saying he was allergic - he wasn't.
Then we went and visited the caves. Gough's Cave, smooth undulating toffee rock is how I would describe these underground places of fantasy, a clear river runs through them, shallow but disappearing into dark holes, a place of serene placidity. Caves are magical places, but give them mythology, and archaeology and their stories are enriched. Cannibals lived there during Mesolithic times of years, you can tell by the skulls found inside the caves and then there is a witch frozen into stone at the entrance to the cave by a monk from nearby Glastonbury Abbey, who threw holy water over the woman. This at Wookey Hole Cave, where once an old lady lived with her goats maybe.
"In 1912, an archaeologist named Herbert Balch found the almost complete skeleton of an old woman, the bones of two goats, a dagger, some household items and a polished alabaster ball among other Iron Age remains near the entrance to the Hole. Whether or not these remains have any tie-in with the legend of the witch makes for interesting conjecture."
And if you disbelieve that monks were around in the first century AD, Never forget that Glastonbury had an early religious age, for Jesus Christ visited the town with his uncle Joseph on a 'business mission' and our Queen still has a sprig of the hawthorn bush at Christmas on her breakfast table. Why? because the planting of Joseph of Arimadeus's staff of Jerusalem hawthorn on English soil, left it flowering out of season at Christmas. Believe such stories or not, that is how myth is born, and in the following centuries stories are built up to fantastic levels, and of course by entrepreneurial folk like the monks.
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Today, Saturday. More words to contemplate: Spoken by Keir Hardie and the article written in praise of Kim Leadbetter, sister to the late Jo Cox. Words gather but actions are thin on the ground.
For now I am listening to Conundrum by Jan Morris, she died in November 2020 and yet her lyrical writing is still as intense as ever. Biological binary, or being born a woman in a male body. Sometime ago I read that there was somewhere along the line of 60ish ways you could define your sexual gender. Whoops said my mind haven't got time for learning all that but I am sure Jan Morris will explain with her gentle voice. It is not black and white but a myriad ways of interpretation.
For the moment I am back at Wookey Hole contemplating the serene waters of the river as it rushes underground, wondering at the beauty of the stalagmites and stalactite's great age as they form slowly drip by drip through the ages. Knowing I shared that experience with people several thousand of years ago,
I think that witch must have been frozen static by the Glastonbury monk and got dripped on over a few hundred thousand years. She was petrified - literally. They did some DNA testing on the skeleton found in Cheddar and discovered that although the Marquis of Bath's butler was a distant relative, he wasn't.
ReplyDeleteDoes the Marquis's son follow in his father's footsteps for 'wifelets'? A Cheddar man who goes back thousands of years still has a current, well you could hardly call him a relative,but someone who still has the DNA of Cheddar man.
ReplyDeleteI don't even know who the current Marquis is now. I don't know how many had claim to the title either. I wonder what makes a relative - no matter how distant - if it is not shared DNA. That is how they confirmed the identity of Richard 111.
DeleteI rather like Cheddar gorge - have climbed its walls (years ago) but not delved into its caves. The Macfarlane book drove me mad - he's a high priest of nature writing and he writes so beautifully, and yet I sense much is inauthentic and contrived. I know dozens of cavers - not one of them would dream of saying 'Underland' as descriptor of what they do and where they go. The book's best passages I thought were the passages (no pun intended) where he is climbing or caving alone; when he's describing his real and vivid experience rather than showing us how clever and learned his research is.
ReplyDeleteI know what you mean about Macfarlane, the equivalent of an archaeologist always pushing himself forward in the media to sell what he is offering for. Yet he is an excellent writer. He also mentioned Kirkdale Cave which is just a few miles down the road from here, lair of extinct prehistoric animals.
DeleteI remember when we visited a cave in Colorado years ago and they taught us how to remember the difference between stalagmites and stalactites. "Stalactites cling tightly to the ceiling and be careful of stalagmites as you might trip over them." I always remember that.
ReplyDeleteI had a problem spelling them Ellen, but it is a good way to remember them. For me they are one of the wonders of the natural world, our effect on them as humans athough s we breath the air in caves colours them black.
DeleteI can remember being taken to Cheddar Caves when I was about 6 and there was no concrete pathway back in those days, just a hanging swaying bridge. I was terrified, and dad had to carry me.
ReplyDeleteJust the right place to inspire terror Jennie, I think that is why we take our children to these places. Nothing can quite beat the eerie silence of a cave.
DeleteThat gorge is a thing of beauty.
ReplyDeleteMy parents were proponents of understanding geography. We visited much of the United States, including caves, and some several times over, showing it off to our children. Now the children are taking the grands. It works out well.
Yes it is an early education for children Joanne. One cave has been 'enriched' with a Lord of the Rings theme, trolls hiding in dark corners. Very circus like but it brings the imagination to the fore.
ReplyDeleteThis was a lovely and a though provoking post. I remember Tim's Uncle Herman, listening to a new idea and blinking owlishly behind his glasses, in a wondering way as he pondered it. What a wonderful thing in a world where people jump to conclusions, hold forth on their strongly held opinions, and reject anything that doesn't back those opinions. To ponder carefully a new idea paints a very lovely picture of you, Thelma.
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