Tag Archives: ancient

#writephoto – Guarded

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I’m beyond thrilled that the lovely Sue Vincent has revived her #writephoto prompt.

Sue has a knack for taking photographs that contain stories, so it’s lovely that she feels able to share them once again. This week, her prompt is this atmospheric shot of a boulder guarding a pathway. I’ve been on a few journeys through the landscape with Sue, and I can already feel the voices whispering from this particular shot. Here’s what they told me…

‘You shall not pass!’

He boomed the words, his staff banging down onto the muddy path. Then his freckled face split with a grin, childish laughter ringing across the bracken, carried by the wind to wreath around and through the crevices of the ancient boulder that guarded the way.

‘Give over,’ I said, giving him a little shove as I went past, his stick clattering to the ground. He grinned again, picking it up and running ahead as boys do, swiping at leaves and imaginary foes, his blonde hair catching the pale light.

Ahead, the hillside was crowned with ridges and rocks, like the bones of an ancient dragon curled around its mound of treasure. There were stories here, but then there always were, in the old places. Perhaps the ridges were ancient walls, or perhaps the glaciers had left them there, when they retreated in a creak of ice and snow from the land.

A breath blew, cold on my neck, as I passed the stone. All was still, and I realised I could no longer hear the boy, or anything, other than a single heart beat, like a drum in the distance. A spear point dug into my chest, the metal gleaming dull bronze. The ridges on the hilltop rearranged themselves with a noise like teeth grinding, first into castle walls, then a dragon’s tail, flicking back and forth so that boulders tumbled.

‘You shall not pass.’ The words were whispered, this time. Another heartbeat, butterfly wings in my chest.

And, from down the trail, I heard laughter once more.

***

Enjoyed this post? Want to read more? Find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, Under Stone (Ambeth Chronicles #4), is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page or my website to see more.

A Short Break and A Holy Well

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I recently returned from a short break away with family, something I think the three of us needed after the months of lockdown. We decided to stay within the UK, not quite ready to tackle airports and planes and the rapidly changing quarantine laws, instead driving down south to the coast of Devon.

And it was utterly gorgeous. We stayed at Croyde Bay, a golden curve of beach held within a cradle of hills, where mists came and went and the sea shone silver, sunsets painting golden trails across the waves. Croyde is home to some of the best surfing in the UK, which suited my surfing hubby, and the gorgeous girl and I danced in the waves and explored the rockpools every day, letting cool water wash away the stresses of the past few months.

There were still reminders, of course. It was an unusual holiday in that we didn’t eat out anywhere, choosing to stay in our self-catering accommodation. Masks were worn wherever we went within the resort, and the indoor pool could only be booked for a limited number of people at one time. But it was just a short walk across golden dunes to a beach that remained mostly uncrowded, plenty of room on the sand and in the water for everyone to keep their distance, life feeling almost normal again. We also ventured along the coastal path, where long fingers of rock stretched into the sea, brambles and orchids and butterflies lining the way.

I do like to explore when I visit new places, and I’d done a little bit of research about the area before we arrived. The small viallge of Croyde sits on the bay, home to a few shops and restaurants, as well as some lovely homes. There is evidence that the settlement dates back to before the Saxon era, and there are a few standing stones in the area, as well as some erratics, boulders said to have been left by retreating glaciers after the end of the last Ice Age. The village is mentioned in the Domesday book as Crideholde, and the oldest building in the village is a chapel from the 12th century, which was a daughter-house to the nearby Benedictine Priory at what is now Barnstaple.

And the chapel is dedicated to none other than… St Helen. When I read that I knew I needed to go and find it. We wandered off down narrow lanes, clues to the landscape in house names all around us – Chapel House, Chapel Nook, Priory Stables. However, apparently the chapel is now ruined and on private land, so we had no luck in seeing it,though local lore has it hat many of the stones were used to build some of the nearby cottages.

And there is one small remnant of the chapel still open to the public. This is the ancient holy well of St Helen, located on the driveway of a house called Ladywell (appropriately).

While it is a holy well, I do wonder whether the tradition around it goes back to a time before Christianity – it is fed by a natural spring, one of several in the area, and there were clouties decorating the scrolled iron gate, which are often seen at Celtic holy places.

Christianity has a long history of appropriating holy places and symbols for their own, as I suppose it’s easier to convert people when things don’t seem too different to what they’re already doing. But that’s another blog post 😉 Whatever the situation, this lovely little well was a treat to see, a small hidden treasure and a reminder of the ancient roots of this green land.

Our last day dawned rainy and cold, and we bade farewell to the ocean, to the calling gulls and cradling hills. I can still feel the pull, though, of the cool waves, the tide’s pulse in my blood, the soft grit of sand beneath my feet. We were so fortunate to be able to get away, and to do so safely – I’m truly grateful. Now it’s back to routine, to writing and working and getting the gorgeous girl ready for school in a few weeks, in whatever form that might take.

I hope that, wherever you are, you’re all keeping safe and well xx

Enjoyed this post? Want to read more? Find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, Under Stone (Ambeth Chronicles #4), is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

 

#writephoto Flight

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Well, it’s definitely Thursday now! And with it comes Sue Vincent’s #writephoto challenge, one of my favourite bloggy writing prompts. This week, it’s another evocative picture…

Flight

We reach, soaring

Wings wide against the storm that thunders

Deep around us, rumbling in our hearts,

Ruffling our feathers.

Sometimes we catch an updraft, and float, the world beneath us falling away

At other times we plummet

No wind to hold us

 

The old ways gleam

Below us, deep within the landscape

Like twisting veins of precious ore, waiting

To be discovered.

Sometimes we follow, sometimes we’re guided, sometimes we lose our way

But when the wind holds us

Soaring, we reach.

Enjoyed this post? Want to read more? Find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, Under Stone (Ambeth Chronicles #4), is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

A Trip Into The Past – Den Gamle By, Denmark

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In my previous post, I talked about a recent trip I took to Denmark. It was an impromptu trip, so there wasn’t much time to plan any activities. However, sometimes that’s a good thing, as you can ask for recommendations from locals when you get there as to the best places to go.

We had a great time exploring Aarhus in the few days we had, but hands down my favourite place we visited was Den Gamle By, a ‘village’ created from historic buildings brought from all over Denmark to create a living museum.

One of Denmark’s top tourist attractions, Den Gamle By was opened in 1914 and, at the time, was the first open-air museum of its kind anywhere in the world. Consisting of 75 buildings brought from all over Denmark, some dating back to the 1500s, the museum is laid out like a town, with streets and a town square around a canal.

There are three distinct zones, each covering a different period of history; the 1840s, the 1920s and the 1970s, and there are actors in each zone, enacting scenes of everyday life.

The complex also houses a museum, running beneath the modern section, with examples of European art and Scandinavian craft and design. There are also a couple of gift shops, a bakery selling traditional pastries, a bookshop and several food stalls, all designed to fit into whichever era they are part of.

Each building has a blue plaque on it, detailing its history and where it came from, and I really enjoyed details such as the cobbled streets in the old section, which really added to the overall feel of stepping into the past.

Other than the occasional glimpse of a crane or modern building, it really felt like being in another world, in the best way possible, and a reminder of what many European cities and towns used to look like, before war and development changed their faces forever.

I really enjoyed visiting Den Gamle By, and will happily go again whenever I return to Aarhus – it would be lovely to see in the summertime! As a writer, I can never resist a place that makes me feel as though I’m stepping through a portal into another world, and the old buildings felt as though they were full of stories, just waiting to be told…

Enjoyed this post? Want to read more? Find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, Under Stone (Ambeth Chronicles #4), is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

 

Facing Fear With The Silent Eye, Part 5 – Failure

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I recently attended a workshop with The Silent Eye about Facing Our Fears, an extraordinary weekend spent among the hills and grey stone villages of the Peak District. It’s taken me a little while, as it usually does, to process everything that happened. Once again there was history and mystery, good company and tasty food, old friends greeted and new friends made. And, as always, revelations.This is part five of my account, parts one, two, three and four can be found here…

We left Tideswell and headed into the hills. The sun was shining, the temperature warm enough for just a light jacket – not exactly the kind of weather one associates with fear. However, so far we had faced pestilence, death, and the idea of losing everyone you hold dear to be left alone in a changed world. Quite intense for the first afternoon! I started to get the inkling that this weekend would be about challenging myself internally, as well as externally…

Fear is something that is both universal, and specific to the individual. There are fears that hearken back to our ancestral roots – the fear of being vulnerable, cast out, or killed by some predator. Then there are fears that are more personal – some people suffer from claustrophobia, whereas others dislike large open spaces. Some people are scared of heights, others of spiders – it really depends on the individual. There are modern fears – nuclear war, gender-based violence, terrorism – and age-old ones such as poverty, bankruptcy, homelessness. Fear is unique to each individual, and yet is something we all share. Our next destination was a place where people were tested against an ancient fear, yet where the same tradition is still observed to this day.

We arrived at a very busy car park with people everywhere, a coach disgorging even more walkers near the entrance. While it was a pleasure to be out in the Peak district in such glorious weather, rather than in the rain I’d experienced last time I was there, it did mean it was a bit more crowded than usual. There also seemed to be some sort of event on, with officials seated a tables, people wearing numbers and carrying water bottles. Still, it was a wide and glorious space and there was plenty of room for everyone, plus it made for a more social walk, with lots of lovely dogs to be petted and conversations to be had. Nothing to be scared of here, unless you don’t like dogs or conversation.

After a short conversation our group split, with some of us taking the path running along the cliff edge, while others took the more gentle path among the heather and cairns. For this was a land of the dead – an ancestral burial ground, with scrying bowls carved into stones, small piles of rock dotting the landscape. It didn’t bother me, though – the dead are at peace in such places. So I took in the view, and we remarked how it felt as though the wind was scouring us clean, blowing away the last vestiges of the strangeness we’d experienced the day before.

As the path turned a large stone, standing alone among the cairns, became visible. This is the Eagle Stone, so named because, from one angle, it looks like an eagle at rest. Carved by the elements into fantastic shapes, it has been used since time immemorial as a testing ground for young men to show that they are ready to be wed. Before they were allowed to marry, the young man at first needed to climb the stone to the top, a test of manhood to prove their worth.

While it may seem a simple task, closer inspection revealed there is no easy way to the top. A couple of our group tried, but even to get a short way up was far more difficult than it looked. This would have been a test of both strength and ingenuity, an indication to the tribe that the young man in question was a suitable candidate to marry and pass on their skills to their children.

So the fear to be faced here is the fear of failure, both on a personal level, and of the tribe. If no young men were able to climb the rock, then the tribe was doomed to weaken and die out. And for the young men in question, they would lose both respect and the chance to marry the one they loved. Interestingly, the custom persists, as young men from the village below still climb the rock before they get married, often with the help of friends, and with a veil tied around their waists. As Sue put it so eloquently, ‘perhaps ‘manhood’ is not only defined by the ability to face fears and overcome hurdles, but by the ability to cooperate and help each other.’

As I stood in the shadow of the rock I considered how, perhaps, ancient traditions designed to propagate the strength and fertility of the tribes have become twisted over the centuries, so the idea of fighting for a woman’s favour, of not giving up until it’s bestowed, the idea that it is somehow owed in return for making an effort, has gained traction with some segments of society. And that there is a different kind of fear attached to such behaviour today.

But, as we laughed and joked and made friends with yet another lovely dog, I felt a world apart from such things. It had been a lovely peaceful morning, especially after the strange events of the previous afternoon, and it was nice to sit in the sunshine and enjoy the fresh air. However, I had no idea what the rest of the day had in store…

Enjoyed this post? Want to read more? Find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, Under Stone (Ambeth Chronicles #4), is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

#writephoto – Fire Dance

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‘‘A firedance through the night.’ What d’you suppose they meant by that?’

‘Who?’

‘That band, you know the ones, all floppy hair and white teeth. You know, catchy melodies. They had fancy lyrics, too.’

‘Oh, yeah. I dunno.’

‘You dunno the band, or you dunno what they meant?’

“Both. It was a while ago, wasn’t it?’

They continued along the dark road, footsteps echoing in the cold night air.

‘Maybe they were talking about those fire dancers, you know, the ones you see on the beach, twirling their fire sticks. Remember that holiday we went on?’

‘Yeah. Nice, that.’

***

On the hillside beyond, fire bloomed, like an exotic red gold flower opening, throwing smoke into the velvet sky.

***

‘It was a catchy tune. One of my favourites, back in the day.’

‘Oh well. That’s nice. Cold tonight, isn’t it?’

‘Lovely and clear though. Look at them stars.’

‘Won’t mind getting in though. A nice cup of tea, I think.’

‘Sounds good.’

***

Above them, drumming rang in the high places. Figures masked and cloaked moved between the fires, casting long shadows. Their dance was older than history, older than the hills. It had been sung and written about many times, ribbons of memory woven into pictures anew.

But they did not concern themselves with the world. All they needed was the dance.

This was my response to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt for this week.

If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

Wednesday Wander – Stonehenge and Solstice

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It’s Midsummer today, or Litha in the old calendar, the point where the great wheel of the year turns towards winter once more, the nights gradually growing shorter until Yule, the great festival of Light. On a hot day such as this one the thought of winter is almost welcome, to be honest.

Today is also one of two points during the year when the sun’s rising is marked at Stonehenge, the famous stone monument in Wiltshire. On Midsummer morning the sunrise aligns perfectly with the Heel Stone, and crowds gather to watch the spectacle, one of the few times in the year that people are allowed within the ancient circle of stone.

I have yet to mark Midsummer or Midwinter at Stonehenge, but it is on my list to do so. There is something about the tumbled grey stones, still standing proud upon Salisbury Plain, that tugs at me. The mystery surrounding their use, the precision with which they mark the turning of the year and have done so for millennia, and the astonishing fact that many of the massive stones came from miles away in Wales, brought to the site using technology that still remains undefined, despite efforts to replicate the feat.

I visited Stonehenge most recently in March, on a cool sunny day. Once again the stones remained inscrutable, their message like a song almost heard, dancing on the edge of sound. The light changed the shapes and shadows, and up above a small plane swooped and wheeled, coming so low that concerned staff came out to monitor its progress, worried it might perhaps crash into the stones. But it disappeared after a while, buzzing away across the plains, above the old barrows and hidden earthworks to destinations unknown.

I also visited the brand new visitor centre, set back some way so it is not visible from the monument. It is a vast improvement on the old centre. Shuttle buses take visitors to a point closer to the stones, the road that used to run past them on one side now closed except to walkers, meaning we reached the stones on foot as was done originally. The new centre is very well done, with some excellent interactive exhibits and artifacts excavated at the site – it kept the gorgeous girl busy for quite some time! There were also some replica Bronze Age roundhouses outside, the plaster walls and thatched roofs against a blue sky somehow timeless, and as though they could have been anywhere in the world.

I have wandered to Stonehenge before, and no doubt will do so again – a place holding such magic is worth more than one visit. Thanks for coming on this Wednesday Wander with me – see you again next time!

PS I LOVE this! Nothing like a Spinal Tap reference to make the day complete 🙂

If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

Thursday Doors – The Tower Of London

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I will be doing a post (or two!) at some point about the Tower of London, but as it’s Thursday I thought I’d share a selection of doors from inside the fortress.

The Tower, one of London’s most recognisable landmarks, is almost a thousand years old. It’s built on older Roman foundations, so there are layers upon layers of history.

And there are quite a variety of doors as well, from elegant panelled affairs to hulking great hobnailed beasts, designed to keep people out.. or in.

To be honest, even though we were there for several hours, we didn’t see everything (although we did see the Crown Jewels). So I imagine I’ll be taking a trip back to the White Tower again soon.

This has been my response to Norm 2.0’s Thursday Doors Challenge. For more doors, or to add one of your own, head over to Norm’s site and click the link.

If you enjoyed this post and want to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

 

#writephoto – The Spring

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the-silver-well-3It’s Thursday, which means it’s time for another lovely #writephoto prompt, courtesy of Sue Vincent. Here’s my response to this week’s image:

Squat and heavy, the stone sat next to the little spring, which was all boxed in and bricked up, water pooling, corralled, channelled, rather than roaming free.

The stone had been there so long it remembered a time when the water ran through green grass, from a natural pool lined with tiny flowers in curled leaves, the earth so dark and rich it was almost black.

The stone had held a different shape then. More curves, less angles. It had been chosen for its shape, placed there with careful hands, venerated and looped with flowers and ribbons. Now all that adorned it was moss, and the hands that touched it were no longer so careful, using sharp metal and blunt force to control its shape as they had controlled the spring, wanting to impose order on the land.

But the water still flowed, still clear and cold, tasting of deep caverns where light never shone, where dark towers of stone held crystal roofs high. The stone remembered being there, deep in the earth, in the place where the water was born.

And now, bit by bit, it flowed back there again, the spring taking it home.

If you enjoyed this post and want to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon.

30 Day Writing Challenge – Day Seventeen – Early Morning

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img_4673Earlier this week I shared this image on my Instagram account. It was taken one early morning as I walked past the park. Mist hung low beneath the trees, the light behind turning them to silhouettes and it seemed so serene to me, the mist like a blanket on the grass, that I had to stop and take a photo. It also reminded me a little of my first Ambeth book, Oak and Mist. Perhaps if I’d stepped between the trees I would have found myself… somewhere else.

I usually wake up early. I am a morning person – once I’m awake it’s very tough for me to go back to sleep again. However, I don’t like to feel rushed in the morning. I’d much prefer to wake a half hour earlier and breakfast leisurely, rather than running around in a panic to leave the house on time.

img_3684While away with The Silent Eye on a magical weekend, we watched the sun rise. It was bitterly cold but clear, ancient rock formations wreathed with mist like dragon’s breath, golden light turning small graven pools to mirrors. It was utterly beautiful. I do believe there is magic in the  turn from night to day, and day to night – they are moments of power, of possibility.

img_3702And so early morning, like early evening, is one of my favourite times of day.

This was my response to Day 17 of the 30 Day Writing Challenge – today’s prompt is: Early Morning

If you enjoyed this post, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon.