Poetry and the Stories of St Mary Tory

Covid put paid to a lot of things, one of them being the Words and Ears poetry evenings that used to take place in The Swan at Bradford-on-Avon. (It seems churlish to complain, given that the organiser, Dawn Gorman, now presents 'The Poetry Place' on West Wilts Radio - another boon for the poetry community in the West - but I do miss the rather more plentiful opportunities we used to have for in-person mingling with the poets of Wiltshire and Somerset. 

I was really pleased, then, to be able to join a few of them for a one-off Words and Ears Live at the 2024 Bradford Roots Music Festival. First though, since I'd arrived in very good time, a little visit to the lovely Chapel of St Mary, more commonly known as St Mary Tory,

In case you're wondering, 'Tory' has nothing to do with the political party; rather, it derives from the word 'tor' and refers to its location, perched high on the hill above the 17th century suburb of Newtown. 

Luckily, I was winding my way to Mary Tory from the top of the hill, rather than uphill from the centre of Bradford-on-Avon, which I've heard is a fair climb. 

Even so, my route was still steepish in places. 

Sadly, it was a dull, dark day, and the Westbury White Horse wasn't visible on thie horizon, but I did enjoy the rooftops with their graduated tiles, layered in the distinctive Cotswold manner ... 

... while below I picked out Holy Trinity Church, the roof of St Laurence, the atmospheric Saxon Church, and the mediaeval Town Bridge ...

... and to the west, I could see the Tithe Barn with the Kennet and Avon canal behind it. It would be good to go back again on a clearer day. 

St Mary Tory

The chapel is thought to date from the second half of the 15th century, and was originally a pilgrim chapel on the route between Glastonbury and Malmesbury. The antiquary, John Leland, came across it in his 'Itinerary' of 1533, and John Aubrey, chronicler of the 17th century, considered it 'the finest hermitage I have seen in England'. By the 19th century it was a ruin, and was rebuilt, in its original, late Perpendicular style, by T B Saunders QC. 

The lovely East Window, was designed and made by Mark Angus of Bath in 1999. 

It felt like a very peaceful, special place, but I couldn't linger too long as I had poems to read. I duly arrived back at the festival slightly pink and breathless, but my poems - featuring Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Joe Strummer and Ian Dury - were well received, and I was also interviewed by Dawn for West Wilts radio about my forthcoming collection, 'Love the Albatross'. 

On the Golden Gudgeon stage - clockwise - Linda Saunders with Dawn Gorman during the sound check, Jeff Phelps, Dawn and Frances-Anne King, Eileen Cameron, Chris Macfarlane, Linda Saunders, Dee Way and Ruth Sharman

A funny thing happened when I was talking to a member of the audience, who was wearing a bird headband, about wassailing, specifically the time we wassailed my grandmother's apple tree which my friend had driven over from my old garden on top of her Morris Traveller and replanted, and she said 'Dru Marland'! Which is exactly what I love about our community and our corner of the world. 

The 2023 Kennet and Avon Canal Christmas Floating Fayre

 And so to Bradford-on-Avon for the Christmas Floating Fayre on the Kennet and Avon Canal. We could have gone on Saturday, which was a cold but sunny day enhanced by the winter's first frost - a Frost Fayre! -  but someone had football to watch, and so we found ourselves east-bound on the M4 on Sunday, in pervasive mist and drizzle. 

Fortunately it was - well, not clearing up exactly, but at least not quite as wet by the time we arrived, found a parking place on Trowbridge Road and walked to the wharf. And although I've made enough winter visits to friends living on the cut to know that it's the most unromantic of lives, up to your arse in mud on the tow path, the last few autumn leaves reflected in the water, the coloured boats and woodsmoke did look very picture-rescue, as someone I know said without a trace of irony the other day. 

First, a quick chat with Dru, who was in pole position on the Lower Wharf visitor moorings, doing a roaring trade selling her art and poetry books. As usual, I'd bought enough of her calendars for the people on my present list who appreciate them, but had forgotten to get one for myself, so I needed another of those. I also couldn't resist a pack of cards featuring a frozen-looking heron on Widcombe top lock in Bath. 

Looking down at the River Avon

Then we wandered half a mile or so west to see our friend Jinny, and meet - for the first time - her dog, Millie, a Macedonian rescue who joined her on NB Netty earlier in the year. 

First glimpse of Millie

After hugs and a catch-up, we wandered back to the pub for cider ...

... and then headed up to the Upper Wharf, where there was a Barber Boat, complete with revolving pole. I have to say, I remember the ones from my childhood being just red and white, and have laboured all my life under the impression that the red represents blood. No idea, then, what bodily fluid the blue might stand for.

Back at the Lower Wharf, Dru's stall was about eight deep in customers so we sidled past without managing to say goodbye. A lovely couple of hours out, though, and a welcome change of scene. 

Last Exit to Trowvegas

I didn't get to the Kennet and Avon Christmas Floating Market in Bradford-on-Avon this year because Son the Younger was moving back to Bristol and needed someone to help him drive his stuff down from Rugby - that someone being me - so I always had in mind that I'd have to pop over to wherever Dru Marland was moored on the canal to pick up a few Christmas cards for me and the Friend-formally-known-as-'Er-over-the-Road. 

As it was, the printers got themselves a bit overwhelmed with work and Dru didn't manage to pick them up in time anyway, which was a shame, but it did mean there were definitely enough left for me to collect in a rendezvous with her on Bradford-on-Avon wharf. And what a beautiful card it is. I absolutely love it. 

Bradford was looking gracious, as usual, even though closer scrutiny of the picture below reveals autumn leaves, Christmas lights and early flowering cherries in blossom, which is a bit confusing and possibly slightly alarming. 

I was also in the locality for a Stanza open mic session run by Josephine Corcoran in Trowbridge, which is known by locals as Trowvegas and is the somewhat down-at-heel bigger cousin of Bradford. 

I really like it, and its 'rich industrial heritage', as they say.

The open mic was held in Bridge House, which is an Arts Centre next to the railway station. I was very taken with the venue, though I had to concentrate very hard on the poetry so as not to be completely mesmerised by the patchwork windows, of which at least two designs were familiar from my childhood home and subsequent places I've lived in. Luckily for me, the poets were good and very welcoming. 

By the time I walked back to the car, parts of Trowbridge were looking a little scary, or at the very least haunted, so I skedaddled back to the bright lights of Bristol in the embers of the day, which is about four o'clock right now ... 

... to warm my chilly fingers on this beautiful fox embellishing the cover of the latest anthology in aid of the League Against Cruel Sports to be produced by my publishers, Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams Publishing. I'm so very proud to have two poems in it. 

Art for heart's sake

 

It was a lovely morning this morning, by which I mean it wasn't raining, and Cwtch and I were off on an adventure, to visit Jinny and Dru on the Kennet and Avon at Seend in Wiltshire, where there's a Victorian postbox. 

I parked in the car park of the Barge Inn - there are, I think, at least three pubs so named on the K&A - and mounted a look out from the bridge, upstream - no, wait, canals don't have a stream, do they - east ... 

... and west, where I could see Jinny and Dru in the distance, coming to meet us.   

By now it was sunny with just the right amount of cloud and I felt pretty chipper even though I'm a hopeless winter depressive.

Dru's boat, NB Eve, was looking spectacular with its Progress Pride flag, but we were headed for Jinny's NB Netty, two boats along, despite what Dru considers her less than optimum supply of tea. 

Ooh, and it was warm inside by the wood burner, much warmer than at home, where I haven't put the central heating on yet. After a very happy Cwtch had spent some time exploring her first ever boat and located Jinny's lost socks, her store of cheese, a packet of cat food and the rather tasty tasteful leg of her decorated Lloyd Loom chair, Jinny and I hunkered down for a chat and a stint folding and sorting cards and pairing them with envelopes, ready for the Floating Market the weekend after next. 

Through the window I could see a blaze of hawthorn berries, though sadly no sign of the redwings or fieldfares that frequent them ...

... while the doors afforded a view of a gold mannequin, perched on the roof of the boat between Netty and Eve.

More (perfectly satisfactory) tea and ginger biscuits later, it was time to be thinking about going. Night creeps up so quickly these days, and I wanted to be nearly home before all the light disappeared.

Hooray for dear friends, cuddly collies and bright November days. Hopefully the weather will be as lovely for the market as it was today. 

Frank Brangwyn at Ditchling and Katie Marland in Bristol and Crediton

I've been to a couple of exhibitions lately. One was at Ditchling Museum of Art and Craft, which I'd wanted to visit for ages, having been a devotee of the Arts and Crafts Movement for years.

Of course, the difficulty with the Ditchling artists' community, which flourished from 1907 to 1924, is its association with Eric Gill. (I still admire his art, even though we now know he was a child rapist.) It turned out, though, the museum was showcasing eight mural panels from Frank Brangwyn's The Skinner's Hall murals, which was altogether more acceptable. 

The murals were commissioned in 1901 to decorate the dining hall of the Court of the Skinners' Company ('above the oak panelling'), but which were delivered late on account on Brangwyn's apparent inability to refuse a commission. It was 1937 before the job was completed. 

Here's one of my favourite details, from 'Education'. Apparently, Donald Sinden, who grew up in the village, was the model for one of the pupils in the mural.

We also had a wander around the village, which is full of endearing buildings. 

Bank  House on the right

Crossways, formerly Catlands, c16th century

This is Wings Place, also known as Anne of Cleves House, having been given to her as part of the marriage annulment (though she never stayed there). The current house appears to be mainly 16th century.

The Ditchling war memorial project was overseen by Eric Gill. The lettering, carved by Joseph Cribb, proved impossible to photograph with my phone in brilliant sun.

We had lunch in the White Horse, which serves Harvey's beer. When she saw my name, the landlady very kindly gave me a stash of unsullied beer mats with the brewery's strapline (and unofficial motto of Sussex) 'We wunt be druv'. Sounds good to me.

After lunch, we visited the oldest building in the village, which is the Church of St Margaret of Antioch, the lower walls of which are Saxon, with the remainder dating mainly from the 12th and 13th centuries. I loved the simplicity of the interior ...

... and the 13th and 14th century stone slabs in the porch. 

 The sun dial in the churchyard, designed and carved by Gill 

Day trips to Sussex are necessarily flying because of the amount of driving involved, but one day I'd like to return to Ditchling for a more leisurely study of the headstones in the churchyard, some of which are very finely carved. 

A few days before my Sussex sojourn, I'd visited an inspirational exhibition closer to home, in the Park Street vestibule of Bristol's Council House. Entitled Folklore, it comprised a series of drawings by Katie Marland, the hugely talented daughter of my friend, Dru Marland.

Having an interest in the old stories, I'd been really looking forward to seeing it, and as I'd suspected, it was fascinating. I especially loved the Mari Lwyd, which I first met in the flesh - so to speak - when on a jaunt to Crickhowell with Dru back in 2016 ... 

... the Barghest, which frequents the lanes of Suffolk but is definitely a cousin of the black dogs of Devon ... 

 

... Black Annis, of Leicestershire, who skins and eats children and lambs ...

... and the Hairy Hands, which are definitely of Devonshire origin, being associated with the stretch of the B3212 that run between Two Bridges and Postbridge on Dartmoor. 

Indeed, since ending in Bristol, Katie's exhibition has made its way to the Folklore Library and Archive in Crediton, Devon, and is well worth seeing.  

Having spent part of the afternoon in such company, it was perhaps fitting that the waning moon that evening was decidedly strange, appearing to get stuck in the top of my neighbour's weeping birch, and reflected so weirdly in the cloud that it resembled the head of a child's doll.