I really don’t think global warming is the answer to my previous post, although of course it could be.

I’m more inclined to believe the answer may lay behind the fence...

Ladies and gentleman
for your delight and delectation
I give to you
for one night only
our local chemical plant not emitting any sludge!

Could the above be the reason behind the dry surround and lop-sided tree? Well who knows, I ain't no scientist! I am aware these pictures were taken on a day when nothing was being vented though...

What do you think about when you look at this photograph? It was taken yesterday and while it may not be a masterpiece, I don’t think it’s too had on the eye.

But to my mind there’s something horribly wrong here; as I said it was taken during my lunch period yesterday, Monday 26 February, on the outskirts of Newport, South Wales.

Look closely – then tell me what’s wrong here.

February Colours?

No clue? Hmmm...

Well here’s the thing. We’ve had a lot of rain in this area through the winter, so why does everything look so dry here? Even the ivy climbing the trees on either side of the path looks dull and lifeless.

Global Warming? Well maybe....

I blogged a little last week about the Great Flood of 1606 and the water-height marker set into a stone on the wall of Saint Thomas the Apostle at Redwick, Monmouthshire.

I’m a big fan of local history; you’ll often find me trudging my way around Monmouth’s villages, Celtic hill forts, Roman remains, post-Romano historic sites, our industrial past and waterways.

Churches are a favourite place to visit and luckily for me there are lots of interesting old churches around Wales and quite a few in my local area. I'm always attraced by those stuck in the middle of fields, some distance from any modern highway.

This particular church is located in the hamlet of Little Porton, within the parish boundary of Goldcliff, Monmouthshire.

County records tell of the tragedy of the Great Flood in 1606, but also indicate the Goldcliff church, Saint Mary Magdalene, was built around 1424 from remaining rubble, when Goldcliff priory was destroyed by a flood.

This particular church is not Saint Mary Magdalene however and there appears to be very little information appertaining to it. The church appears to be still in use although it is in a sad state of repair.

Research into the parish of Goldcliff provides us with some interesting information.

William Camden (1551-1623) in his Britannia discusses my own area, which he calls Wondy, then goes on to tell us:

Beneath this lieth spred for many miles togither a mersh, they call it the Moore, which when I lately revised this worke, suffered a lamentable losse. For when the Severn sea at a spring tide in the change of the Moone, what beeing driven backe for three daies together with a Southwest winde, and what with a verie strong pirrie [squall] from the sea troubling it, swelled and raged so high that with surging billowes it came rolling and in-rushing amaine upon this tract lying so low, as also upon the like states in Somersetshire over against it, that it overflowed all, subverted houses and drowned a number of beasts, and some people withall. Where this mersh coast bearing out by little and little runneth forth into the sea, in the verie point thereof standeth Goldclyffe aloft, that is, as Giraldus saith, A Golden cliffe, so called because the stones there, of a golden colour by reverberation of the Sunne shining full upon them glitter with a wonderfull brightnesse; neither can I bee easilie perswaded (saith hee) that Nature hath given this brightnesse in vaine unto the stones, and that there should bee a flowre heere without fruit, were there any man that would serch into the veines there, and, using the direction of Art, enter in the inmost and secretest bowels of the Earth.

While Gerald of Wales says:

Not far hence is a rocky eminence, impending over the Severn, called by the English Gouldcliffe68 or golden rock, because from the reflections of the sun's rays it assumes a bright golden colour:

"Nec mihi de facili fieri persuasio posset,
Quod frustra tantum dederit natura nito rem
Saxis, quodque suo fuerit flos hic sine fructu."

Nor can I be easily persuaded that nature hath given such splendour to the rocks in vain, and that this flower should be without fruit, if any one would take the pains to penetrate deeply into the bowels of the earth; if any one, I say, would extract honey from the rock, and oil from the stone. Indeed many riches of nature lie concealed through inattention, which the diligence of posterity will bring to light; for, as necessity first taught the ancients to discover the conveniences of life, so industry, and a greater acuteness of intellect, have laid open many things to the moderns; as the poet says, assigning two causes for these discoveries,

" - labor omnia vincit Improbus, et duris urgens in rebus egestas."

So now we know how Goldcliff got its name, let’s examine a few facts and figures about the area.

GOLDCLIFF is a parish on the Bristol channel, 3½ miles south from Llanwern station on the South Wales section of the Great Western railway, 149½ from London, and 6 south-east from Newport, in the Southern division of the county, Lower division of Caldicot hundred, petty sessional division of Christchurch, union and county court district of Newport, rural deanery of Caerleon, archdeaconry of Monmouth and diocese of Llandaff.

A high sea wall, erected to prevent the irruption of the tide, skirts one side of the parish. The church of St. Mary Magdalene is an ancient building of stone in the Early Englsh style, consisting of chancel, nave, south porch, and an embattled western tower containing one bell. In the chancel there is a mural brass thus inscribed :-

"On the 20th day of January, 1606, even as it came to pass, it
pleased God the flood did flow to the edge of this same brass,
and in this parish there was lost £5,000 in stock &c.
besides 22 people was in this parish drowned."
Goldcliffe: John Wilkins of Pill Row and William Tap,
Churchwardens, 1609

The church has 90 sittings. The register of baptisms and burials dates from the year 1728, and that of marriages from 1729. The living is a vicarage, net yearly value £95, with 38 acres of glebe, in the gift of Eton College.

On Goldcliff hill, and about a mile from the church, are the remains of the Benedictine, priory of SS. Mary and Mary Magdalene, founded in 1113 by Robert Chandos. It was first a cell of the French abbey of Bec, and afterwards of Tewkesbury. The Welsh drove out the monks between 1442 and 1446. The revenues were estimated at £114 yearly.

A Chapelry is established at Porton circa 1120.

The principal landowners are the Provost and Fellows of Eton College, who are the lords of the manor, Messrs. Power, lords of Porton, Messrs. Henry Oakley, Thomas Jacob Jones, Alfred Jones, St. John Knox Rickards Phillips esq. of Whitson Court, and G. C. Williams esq. of St. Mellon's.

Further research tells us that in 1901 letters through Newport arrive at 9 a.m.; dispatched at 5 p.m. The nearest money order office is at Pillgwenlly.

Pillgwenlly, about 4 miles distant, is also the nearest telegraph office for collection, but Newport Docks is nearest for delivery, about 5 miles distant.

At this time I am able to go no further. This interesting old church at Little Porton must be tied to the Chapelry mentioned above and established back in the 1100s.

Just how old the church itself is I cannot tell. For clarity: a Chapelry is the district attached to a chapel; a division of a large or populous parish which has its own parochial or district chapel.

If you've read and enjoyed my historical rambling let me know: there are lots of other interesting sites I could ramble about...

This government wants to charge drivers to use the roads on a per-mile basis: not an all bad idea if the charges per mile are fair, road fund licence is scrapped and tax on fuel reduced (fat chance of any of that happening!).

The public don't like the idea however and 1.8 million people sign a petition to say so.

What does this government do?

Simple - ignore the mood of the public (as usual!); so, nothing new there then...

No decision on national road pricing has yet been made, Tony Blair has said in his e-mail to the 1.8m signatories of the petition opposing a toll scheme.
He says the debate is about tackling congestion and not an effort to introduce a "stealth tax" on motorists.

Funds raised by pilot schemes would be spent on local transport, he added.

Yeah, right. And what are we, the public, supposed to do until there is a viable public transport infrastructure? Carry on as normal, but pay more for the pivilidge that's what. Thank you Mr Blair!

The Labour Party - The Party of the People - NOT

Following on from Sunday's post Samuel Taylor Coleridge I am inspired to post another of the great man's poems. Be warned though, the following is in seven parts so is a little on the long side...

The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Published in 1798

Part I

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
`By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
Mayst hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
`Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye -
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon -"
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And foward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken -
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine."

`God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus! -
Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."

Part II

"The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung."

Part III

"There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye -
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight the sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the sun,
Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that Woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
`The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip -
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly, -
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my crossbow!"

Part IV

`I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown.' -
"Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropped not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
Forthe sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside -

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea."

Part V

"Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light -almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools -
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me."

`I fear thee, ancient Mariner!'
"Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned -they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe;
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

The sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion -
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

`Is it he?' quoth one, `Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.'

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, `The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.'

Part VI

First Voice

But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing -
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?

Second Voice

Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast -

If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.

First Voice

But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?

Second Voice

The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner's trance is abated.

"I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapped: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen -

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring -
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze -
On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own country?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray -
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck -
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart -
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third -I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood."

Part VII

"This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineers
That come from a far country.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve -
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
`Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?'

`Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said -
`And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.'

`Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look -
(The Pilot made reply)
I am afeared' -`Push on, push on!'
Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl where sank the ship
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips -the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
`Ha! ha!' quoth he, `full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row.'

And now, all in my own country,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!
The Hermit crossed his brow.
`Say quick,' quoth he `I bid thee say -
What manner of man art thou?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns;
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are;
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company! -

To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.

The squabbling of the morning flight
Welcoming morn
Banishing night,
The splishing
Splashing
Screeching song
They let us know day has begun.

More sedately Blackbird calls
Hen arrives
Perched on wall,
Daily offerings surveyed
Bread
And nuts
On feeding tray.

Cooing of the Collared Doves
Always paired
So much in love,
Bobbing heads they strut around
Picking
Pecking
On the ground.

Morning flight returns a-pace
Squabbling Sparrows
In your face,
They seem to scream
To one
To all
From the bay beside the stream.

Next comes little Jenny Wren
So timid
This small brown hen,
She’s watched by Robin
Eyes beady
Bright
See who, where and when.

My garden birds bring so much pleasure
Sipping coffee
At my leisure,
Observed, but not disturbed by me
They feed
And bathe
Their morning rituals; my morning enjoyment.

The Snow-drop

Fear no more, thou timid Flower!
Fear thou no more the winter's might,
The whelming thaw, the ponderous shower,
The silence of the freezing night!
Since Laura murmur'd o'er thy leaves
The potent sorceries of song,
To thee, meek Flowret! gentler gales
And cloudless skies belong.

Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd
Interpreting the Spirit's thought-
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thy droopedst o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy
Inclin'd the drooping head.

She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes,
Fame unreluctant heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes!
Fear thou no more the Matin Frost
That sparkled on thy bed of snow:
For there, mid laurels ever green,
Immortal thou shalt blow.

Thy petals boast a white more soft,
The spell hath so perfumed thee,
That careless Love shall deem thee oft
A blossom from his Myrtle tree.
Then, laughing at the fair deceit,
Shall race with some Etesian wind
To seek the woven arboret
Where Laura lies reclin'd.

All them whom Love and Fancy grace,
When grosser eyes are clos'd in sleep,
The gentle spirits of the place
Waft up the insuperable steep,
On whose vast summit broad and smooth
Her nest the Phoenix Bird conceals,
And where by cypresses o'erhung
The heavenly Lethe steals.

A sea-like sound the branches breathe,
Stirr'd by the Breeze that loiters there;
And all that stretch their limbs beneath,
Forget the coil of mortal care.
Strange mists along the margins rise,
To heal the guests who thither come,
And fit the soul to re-endure
Its earthly martyrdom.

The margin dear to moonlight elves
Where Zephyr-trembling Lilies grow,
And bend to kiss their softer selves
That tremble in the stream below:-
There nightly borne does Laura lie
A magic Slumber heaves her breast:
Her arm, white wanderer of the Harp,
Beneath her cheek is prest.

The Harp unhung by golden chains
Of that low wind which whispers round,
With coy reproachfulness complains,
In snatches of reluctant sound:
The music hovers half-perceiv'd,
And only moulds the slumberer's dreams;
Remember'd LOVES relume her cheek
With Youth's returning gleams.

...all that and not a single mention of an albatross...

I’ve mentioned the sometimes bizarre weather we seem to have experienced a couple of times recently and the fact that flowers that usually bloom in mid to late March have already been gracing our gardens and hedgerows with their bright colours...
IT’S FAR TOO EARLY, GET YOUR HEADS BACK DOWN!

One of my Spring favourites is these little guys and I never tire of seeing their sweeping carpets of blossom against the cold, hard greens of winter grass.

Snow Drops

I’m so pleased this lot survived the drought, torrential rain, frost and snow, but then being Snow Drops they are a hardy bunch.

There was an article in the Times back in January commemorating the Great Flood of 1607 and arguing the cause of the disaster; some say the flooding was caused by an Atlantic tsunami.

The flood actually took place around 9:00 on the morning of 20th January 1606, although in the modern calendar this converts to 30th January 1607. That the event took place there is no doubt since it is recorded on plaques in a number of churches on either side of the Bristol Channel.

Redwick, St Thomas the Apostle

This church is St Thomas the Apostle in Redwick, Monmouthshire and quite local to me. The inset in the top right of the photo shows the watermark from the Great Flood; the stone is set into the buttress of the porch at a height of approximately four feet six inches. You may want to click the image to view it full size.

The village of Redwick is probably the best preserved medieval village in Monmouthshire and is situated on the Gwent Levels close to, but not within sight of, the Monmouthshire bank of the Severn Estuary.

Those interested in the history of Britain and South Wales in particular may wish to visit the Historic Landscapes in Wales web.

Those wishing to read more about the Disaster of the Great Flood will find the Burnham-on-Sea page interesting.

You may have heard in the news about the shootings in Salt Lake City, Utah, where five people were shot dead in a shopping mall when a man ran riot with a pump-action shotgun.

I have friends in Salt Lake City and over the years have got to know some of their friends who live locally. I’d read the news story, but hadn’t really connected until I received a personal email about the event from one of my virtual acquaintances whose daughter works in one of the stores in the mall. I've changed the names of the people involved...

Sarah was supposed to work but the schedule was changed at the last minute and she got off early. Fortunately for me she came straight home, or I’d have been frantic. Having heard the news Sarah tried to ring her friends at the store. She finally got through to Charley, the manager on site after hours of trying. Charley told her that she and Carole, who were the only people in the store, were at the cash wrap when they heard a noise.

They looked up and saw the guy walking through the west entrance with the gun at his hip. He turned and looked at them, raised his gun, then turned away and then walked on. They were literally frozen with fear. When they got their wits about them they ran to the store room and locked themselves in.

Thank God the guy walked away and the girls were OK. Sarah, who had broken into tears on the phone, was still shaking hours later.

Suddenly the whole event took on a different meaning for me. Imagine the horror my friends and their families must have felt; too terrible to contemplate.

Isn’t it time our American cousins changed their minds about gun ownership?

What an excellent game of rugby!

Such excitement...

Such nerve jangling play...

Allez Le Blue!

France can go on to win their Grand Slam now, while Ireland can still compete for the Triple Crown.

O’Gara named as man-of-the-match; I’d have chosen David Wallace myself, who I thought had a magnificent game.

Unlucky Ireland, but well done France.

An excellent win in Sydney this morning to take the Commonwealth Bank Series and restore some pride in British cricket; well done England.

This is England’s first major overseas one-day tournament win since 1997, so it’s been a long time coming.

England scored 246-8 (50 overs) to beat Australia 152-8 (27 overs) by 34 runs. The match was eventually abandoned due to rain.

Six Nations weekend two is well underway and from where I’m sitting the levels of disappointment have risen high.

I’m not just talking about Wales’ very sad display yesterday; England too showed signs of reverting to their former sorry form. In fact I’d have to say I thought Brian Ashton looked rather more pissed off than Gareth Jenkins.

The Boy’s Own return of Jonny Wilkinson against Scotland was overshadowed by a mediocre at best performance against Italy yesterday. In fact I thought several of the England side under-performed yesterday, but the win means their challenge rumbles on. The side looks very disjointed though.

Italy, who looked so hapless last week against France performed far better yesterday against England. If only the Azzurri had an outside-half with any nouse they’d be a side with direction, though they’d still lack bite. Still they’d be more of a match for the rest of the home nations.

Scotland seem to have stood still. Their performance against England lacked invention and their indiscipline cost them dear. Much the same against Wales yesterday I thought; lots of possession and territorial advantage, but little penetration.

Wales have, if anything, gone backwards. I wasn’t in the least surprised by their loss to Ireland last weekend, but they did seem to have some clue about the game. By contrast yesterday they seemed completely out of sorts and appeared to have no clue where they were going. I'd go as far as to say it was one of the worst performances I've seen from Wales for some time and that includes the wilderness years. Very poor.

And that brings me to what should be the highlight of this weekend; Ireland v France at Croke Park this afternoon.

Both these sides have the armoury to win this year’s championship, but the French tend not to travel well so in many ways this afternoon’s clash will depend which French XV turn up! Nevertheless the game has the potential of being an absolute cracker, so I for one am crossing my fingers and hoping for an afternoon’s great entertainment. Roll on 3:00pm - come on guys, restore my faith in the Fraternity of the Ovoid!

What's happened to all the snow we were promised then? Where is it? Got out of my nice warm bed and looked out the window hoping I'd be greeted by a blanket of white (so I could go back to bed again) and nothing, nada, zilch... Bugger! I'll just have to go to work instead...

So what is it with the Weather Wizards then? Seems to me they don't have much idea what's going to happen at all, weather-wise. Take today for instance. They've been banging on about how snow would arrive this morning and we should prepare for/expect heavy falls today for the last few days.

Yesterday afternoon even the flashy signs on the motorway were bleating on about snow and severe adverse weather; my motorway journey is only about 12 miles so it's not as though I was on the other side of the country.

Local radio has been telling us to analyse any potential journey and stay at home unless the journey is absolutely necessary.

There's even been advice on the TV to carry a shovel, sack of grit and some old carpet in the boot of the car, along with some warm dry clothes and a flask with a hot drink; sound advice no doubt if you happen to live somewhere cold where snow is a real problem. Oh no, I forgot; where snow is a ‘real problem’ they treat it as an everyday occurrence, know how to deal with it and life carries on regardless!

Now after all the warnings the day arrives and what have we got? Bugger all, that's what. Smacks of scare-mongering to me!

Well here we are again, it's Wednesday morning and we've reached the middle of another week. I haven't really got anything to say, but thought I'd make an appearance as I've not been around much recently.

Being in the mood for a little mischief to break up the monotony of an otherwise tedious week in work, I'm seeking suggestions for a bit of Midweek Madness. So here's a challenge to all you guys and girls out there in Blogland; post some your ideas for breaking up the week and making Wednesday a bit of fun.

Prizes will be awarded for the best suggestions: especially the naughty ones!

Wales 9 – 19 Ireland

Congratulations Ireland!

The guys in green are off and running with the first hurdle of this year’s RBS Six Nations safely cleared.

What a fantastic game of rugby; the excitement and intensity were second to none. Championship favourites Ireland were worthy winners, but despite a ten point advantage certainly didn’t have things their own way.

Lots of superb individual performances by players from each side and some excellent team inter-play at times too. Compared to the stop-start performances witnessed in Rome and London yesterday, today’s efforts in Cardiff were simply sublime.

As a Welshman I’m naturally disappointed my side came off second best, but as a rugby fan I was enthralled and am now quite exhausted!

Not wishing to take anything away from the wins of England, France and Ireland, but I am slightly disturbed by the quality of refereeing in the opening weekend of this year’s championship.

Poor decision making by the officials could so easily have resulted in scores that changed the outcome of games; there’s nothing worse as a player than the slap in the face you get when a referee gets it wrong and the opposition gain an advantage because of it, whether that be better field position or a score. I just hope we don’t see more of the same mistakes next week and in the remainder of the championship.

Sunday morning and I’m just kicking back and watching the world go by.

The garden birds have been entertaining this morning; the gang of house-sparrows whose belligerent chirping normally maintains a constant background noise have been quiet today however.

A magpie family who have remained close-knit following last year’s bread have been raiding the nuts I spread on the ground for the blackbirds and robins. It amuses me no end to see these brightly-coloured crows imitating the smaller birds by trying to hop around; magpies are highly intelligent in many respects and you’d think they’d know better really. The crow family are large, bulky birds and were designed to walk, not hop!

It’s nice to see the wrens again too. They seem to have been absent so long I was beginning to think they’d deserted me...

Nearly time for the Archers Omnibus, so another excuse to just fester on the settee, close my eyes and pretend I’m still a kid living the halcyon life of a country urchin.

Radio on.
Ho hum, back to the bird watching.....

Strolling around one of my local cemeteries recently I spotted two terraces cut into a steep sided vale. Intrigued, an investigation had to follow.

The upper of the terraces had several simple gave markers and one battered headstone; so battered in fact it was impossible to make out any of the lettering. The terrace itself, although reasonably level, obviously wasn’t cared for. I assume the lack of care is probably due to the less that adequate access.

The lower terrace appeared to be completely empty at first glance. A harder look revealed a single small wooden cross beneath a growing hawthorn; both almost completely overgrown by bracken. A extremely sad sight indeed.

Making my way back to the steps I looked up and...

Stairway to Heaven?

A lovely sky this morning, but is it the harbinger of bad weather later in the day or has the shepard's house burned down again?

I'd just exited an online banking session when the following arrived in my inbox:

Dear HSBC User,

We recently have determined that your HSBC account, needs to be updated again. This update will help us in making our database more secure. This procedure has become the standard and must follow way for any Bank providing Online banking services. activity.This new security statement will helps us continue to offer HSBC as a secure Online Banking Service. We appreciate your cooperation and assistance.

Please click on continue, to the verification process and ensure your Account information is entered correctly to get verified.

Sincerely,
HSBC Online Account Security.

The email was linked to a website in India (the link purported to go HSBC Online Customer Services).

I hasten to add I did NOT follow the link and have reported the email to the authorities, but the question I'd like answered is this: was it coincidence that I received this email or is someone using some sophisticated site monitoring and phishing for information knowing bankers have just accessed their online accounts? If the latter, then it's a bit worrying don't you think?