There are a few places that I make a pilgrimage to regularly, where I have a kinship and need to pay homage.  These places are all clustered around three key areas in the South West of England, the Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, Purbeck Isle in Dorset and Glastonbury in Somerset.  However as I begun writing the article it became apparent that to include all the places in those areas would make the article be far too long.  So I decided to make this a three part article, today I’m writing about an area that I find most spiritual  - Glastonbury.

Glastonbury

I have always loved the air of magic and mystery that surrounds Glastonbury and not because of the music festival, in fact I’ve never attended the festival and have no plans to do so.  It’s the mystical feel to the very land and buildings of the area and in particular Glastonbury Abbey, The Chalice Gardens and Glastonbury Tor.

Glastonbury Abbey

Glastonbury Abbey Sketch - Copyright R.Weal 1998

Set within 36 acres of parkland, the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey are a beautiful and tranquil setting and a wonderful place to spend some time sitting and contemplating the world and your place within it.  For these reasons and the many myths and legends that have sprung up around it have contributed to the abbey becoming a revered place of pilgrimage over the centuries of it’s existence.

I first visited the abbey  on a stunning summer’s day back in August 1998 where I spent many hours walking the grounds, absorbing the tranquility and peace of the place, taking my time to sketch and photograph the ruins.  I left that day feeling centred and grounded, peaceful and reinvigorated, ready to face the grind of daily life, which was a rare and great gift indeed.

The abbey’s history as a sacred site goes back a long way, starting with the pre-Christian Britons.  According to Medieval Christian myth the site was later visited by Joseph of Arimathea who founded the abbey back in the first century around 63 AD.  The first stone abbey was said to have been erected by King Ine of Wessex back in 712 and the abbey was built up and extended over successive centuries.

Glastonbury Abbey Ruins - Copyright R.Weal 1998

The Normans made extensive additions to the buildings until a great fire consumed much of the structures and treasures in 1184.  It took 30 years to rebuild, but the popularity of Glastonbury continued apace until the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII in 1539.  In the same year Glastonbury Abbey was ransacked of all valuables, which were sold off for the King’s treasury and the Abbot Richard Whiting hung from Glastonbury Tor.  The Abbey then fell into ruin until it was purchased in 1908 by the Bath and Wells Diocesan Trust to preserve it for a new generation of pilgrims.

Glastonbury Abbey Detail - Copyright R.Weal 1998

There’s also got the legend of King Arthur which has become intrinsically linked with Glastonbury and the abbey.  Many believe that Glastonbury is the site of the mystical Isle of Avalon where Excalibur, King Arthur’s mighty sword was forged and Arthur’s final resting place where he went after being mortally injured and from which he will emerge when the land needs him most. Within the Abbey grounds are a pair of graves which are reputed to be those of King Arthur and his queen, Guinevere.

Ruins of Glastonbury Abbey - Copyright R.Weal 1998

The story goes that in order to raise funds to rebuild the abbey after the 1184 fire, pilgrims went in search of the graves of Arthur and Guinevere in 1191 and the bones of two bodies were unearthed from deep graves on the south side of the Lady Chapel.  The bones were finally re interred in their current home many years later in 1278.

Regardless of your religious or spiritual beliefs you can definitely feel the sense of awe and power that the grounds have inspired in countless generations of pilgrims and worshippers.  The abbey ruins themselves have a majestic presence, they’ve stood against the test of a King’s wrath and the ravages of time.

If you get the chance to visit the Abbey I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Glastonbury Chalice Well Gardens

The Chalice Well - Copyright R.Weal 2007

On the outskirts of Glastonbury, on the main route into town is one of the most beautiful, enchanted and sacred places on the planet.  Archaeologists believe that the well has been in use for over 2000 years.  Since 1959 the Well has been under the stewardship of the Chalice Well Trust that was set up by Wellesley Tudor Pole.  The gardens are well maintained and there is a small, but interesting gift shop and regular events for those of a spiritual nature.

The Chalice well is a natural spring which has been regarded as holy site of pilgrimage due to the water’s purported healing qualities.  People of diverse faiths, spirituality and backgrounds still travel from all over the world to partake of the waters and pay homage to the sacred site today.    Pilgrims are able to bathe in the waters in the healing pool and to drink and fill bottles with the spring water at the Lion’s Head Fountain.

The Vesica Pools - Copyright R.Weal 2007

Many myths and legends surround the well, such as the Christian myth that the well marks the site where Joseph of Arimathea placed the chalice that caught the drops of blood from Christ at the crucifixion, which has led to numerous stories of the well and the Holy Grail.  It is also associated with the feminine aspect of the deity, with the Tor representing the masculine and is a place of pilgrimage for those people who come in search of the divine feminine.  Regular celebratory events marking the Christian and Pagan calendars are held within the grounds, details of which can be found on the Chalice Well website.

The Lion's Head fountain - Copyright R.Weal 2007

The water travels down through the Chalice hill and has never failed even during times of drought.  The water has a red hue which is due to the iron oxide deposits in the water, which stains the stonework of the pools and fountain and give the water its distinctive taste.  Some Christians have suggested that the red is a representation of the rusty iron nails used in the crucifixion.

The well, spring Healing pool, Vesica pool and Lion head fountain are set amongst colourful, beautiful and fragrant gardens and orchards that make for a peaceful and serene walk, with ample opportunities to take photographs and numerous private nooks where you can stop to contemplate the world, sketch or write.

I spent a wonderful afternoon in the Chalice Well Gardens with my Dad there back in the summer of 2007.  It wasn’t a planned trip and we ended up going to the Tor and then on to the Chalice Well Gardens, followed by a perusal through the lovely shops in Glastonbury town centre.  It was about this time that I started getting serious about photography and you can see the pictures I took of the Chalice Well Gardens on my flickr set Glastonbury Sacred Chalice Springs.

Glastonbury Tor

Dad & The Tor - Copyright R.Weal 2007

Up on the summit of Glastonbury Tor you can see out for miles over the Somerset levels.  It’s a truly magnificent view and well worth the trek up to see it.  The Tor itself is striking, rising up out of the plain known as the Summerland meadows and being the only high point within the levels that surround it.  Back when the levels were fenland (wetlands), the Tor would have risen up as a lone island.

On the summit you’ll find the imposing St Michael’s Mount, a 15th Century Tower, which is all that is left of the church that once graced it.  It also has the unsavoury reputation of being the place where the Abbot of Glastonbury and two of his monks was hanged in 1539 during the dissolution of the monasteries.

As with Glastonbury Abbey, the Tor has been a sacred place for a very long time and there is archaeological evidence that it was populated as far back as neolithic times and has been inhabited throughout the centuries since.

The Tor is now under the stewardship of the National Trust and is open every day of the year and free to visit.  It’s not the easiest place to get to by car, but there are regular coach tours run from Glastonbury town centre.

Daughter in the sky - Copyright R.Weal 2007

As you look at it from a distance and whilst walking up to the summit you will notice that there are seven deep terraces cut into the Tor.  These are one of the most enduring mysteries associated with the landmark, with a number of theories having been proposed, but nothing proven.

Just like the Chalice Well, there are many myths and legends associated with the Tor, not least of which is the legends around King Arthur and Avalon.  Legend has it that the Tor is the Isle of Avalon, or the doorway to Avalon and the world of fairies.  In more modern times a myth has arisen around the idea of a grand Glastonbury Zodiac, which is an astrological zodiac said to be carved into the ancient hedgerows and track ways.

St Michael's Mount Archway - Copyright R.Weal 2007

Standing up on the Tor it’s hard not to feel the presence of the place.  The wind whistles around you, clearing your thoughts and imbuing you with a sense of power, coupled with the seemingly unending 360 degree views that give you a sense of omnipotence.  It’s easy to see how the Tor has come to represent the masculine elements of the deity.

I visited the Tor one summer’s day with my Dad back in 2007.  It was a totally unplanned trip, which also included a visit to the Chalice Well Gardens and shopping in the quirky Glastonbury Town Centre.  I remember how thunderous clouds threatened to rain down upon us all day, but never touched us.

I left feeling energised and reinvigorated after my trip up to the Tor, not to mentioned inspired.  I found myself fired up with a burning creative energy which I channelled into my burgeoning hobby of photo editing/manipulation of the photographs I took that day, which you can find in my Up on the Tor flickr set.

That concludes my places of pilgrimage in Glastonbury and indeed my places of pilgrimage in the UK.  I hope you’ve enjoyed your trip through my memories of these sacred spaces and beloved places that I make pilgrimage to.  If I’ve inspired you to visit just one of the places I’ve written about then I count myself very lucky.

Happy trails pilgrims

Wealie x

Salisbury Plain
The Isle of Purbeck

There are a few places that I make a pilgrimage to regularly, where I have a kinship and need to pay homage.  These places are all clustered around three key areas in the South West of England, the Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, Purbeck Isle in Dorset and Glastonbury in Somerset.  However as I was writing the article to include all the places in those areas it turned out to be far too long, so I decided to make this a three part article.  Today’s article looks at an area that perhaps has the happiest and most holiday feel to my memories, the Isle of Purbeck.

Purbeck Isle

The Isle of Purbeck is not actually an island, but a 60 mile square area of land on the south west coast in Dorset, England.  There are a number of places here that I find irresistible to visit, Corfe Castle, Studland Beach, Swanage Bay, Wareham Forest and Lulworth Cove. Lulworth Cove I discovered in later life, but Corfe, Studland and Swanage have been mainstays of holidays and family days out since I was a very young child and I have nothing but positive memories connected with these places.

Corfe Castle

Corfe Castle Sketch - Copyright R.Weal 1998

Corfe Castle holds a mystical power over me which I find difficult to explain.  All I can say is that for as long as I can remember I’ve felt at home there, as if a part of me knew it before I ever became conscious of such complex thoughts.  When I have been in dark places it has been a beacon calling out to me, a true north to guide me back to the essence of me when all around me are trying to contain me within fleshy walls of unreality.  Perhaps that sounds overly dramatic, but regardless it is my truth.

Bankes Hotel (Corfe Village) - Copyright R.Weal 1998

Walking amongst the ruins is a true joy to me. I love to touch the stones and let them speak to me, call to a me that isn’t me, to a time in which I can’t possibly belong.  I have walked around it countless times, photographed, videoed, sketched and written about the castle ruins, slept in its shadow at the Bankes Arms hotel, studied it’s history, witnessed an eclipse from within it, dragged numerous friends and family to it and constantly wondered at the magical spell it holds me under, musing as to why it makes me feel so warm, content and safe.

Corfe Castle - Copyright R.Weal 2009

As a child it was the first sign that we were only minutes from Studland beach and I always felt a strange tugging, a longing to go there instead of the beach.  I would find myself turning in my seat as we passed it, watching it until it was finally out of sight.  My Granddad would always recite his silly story about how the castle got its name:

“Do you know how come it’s called Corfe Castle girls?” my Granddad would say, to which my sisters and I would unerringly reply, “No Granddad” amid girlish giggles at the tired and worn joke we knew was coming, but couldn’t help, but love.  ”Well, it’s because the silly idiot that built it forgot to put glass in the windows, so all the people who lived there caught colds and started corfing and corfed it right down”.

Corfe Castle View from Village - Copyright R.Weal 1998

The wry grin that would play across my Granddad’s lips was a warming sight, as was the mischievous glint in his eyes that always accompanied it.  Then one of my sisters or I would pipe up “But there’s not such thing as corfing Granddad!”
“Ah, but there is, it’s how they used to say cough and coughing in old English!”  The laughter that always issued forth from Granddad and his three granddaughters is a precious memory that it always warms me to share and I can’t help but keep up the tradition myself whenever I visit with guests in tow!

To say that Corfe is captivating, inspirational and awe inspiring is like saying water is wet, it’s so obvious to you the moment you see its majestic beauty rising up above all the surrounding landscaping.  A commanding presence, it must have been quite a sight when it was intact.  Corfe Castle is now lovingly cared for by the National Trust and is open all year round to visitors and I thoroughly recommend a visit to my castle.

Studland Beach

Studland beach was the place my Nan taught me to swim, where I became her mermaid diving beneath the waves.  It was where my Dad took me rock pooling and I felt like I was an intrepid naturalist in the vein of my hero Sir David Attenborough.  It was a place that my whole family visited often for weekend beach days, to rest, relax and have fun.

Ben and Dylan at Studland Beach - Copyright R.Weal 2009

I remember setting off with my Mum, Dad and sisters, stopping off at Westbury to have my Nan and Granddad and my Uncle Steve join us and create a three car caravan to Studland.  I remember begging to be allowed to go in the car with my Uncle Steve, because he always drove fast over the long road past Wareham Forest with the big bumps that had your tummy sailing up to your throat!

We would arrive early – the Weal family always made the most out of beach days, up at the crack of dawn and leaving the beach just before the car park closed.  We would arrive just as the gates to the car park were opening and we were always sure to get our obligatory large area marked out with blankets, towels, wind-breakers and assorted inflatables before settling in for some hardcore relaxation and beach time.  Granddad would be sat fully dressed in a deck chair, with his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel and the shirt sleeves and his trousers rolled up.

Nan was always the first to come into the water with us, even though it was probably too cold.  At lunch a great big feast of a picnic was a must and cheese, ham and sand (yuck) rolls were always on the menu along with a carton of orange juice and the obligatory trip to the ice-cream hut with Nan or Uncle Steve.

Sand castles and sand pits were an art form with Uncle Steve and Dad on hand, whether it was being buried alive, or burying someone else alive, creating and elaborate fort, castle or boat, there was always much fun to be had in the sand.  This probably also accounted for the copious amounts of sand in the ham and cheese sandwiches, my swimming costume, my sandals, the car and at the end of the evening the bath after we washed up for bed!

Studland South Beach Sketch - Copyright R.Weal 1998

After lunch was the rock pooling with Dad and Uncle Steve.  We would always bring back the catch in our buckets to show the rest of the family before quite rightly setting them free back in the sea a little way out from the shore to keep them safe from those pesky seagulls who would otherwise have made a feast of them.

Late afternoon heralded the time to build up the sea defences as the tide turned and headed back in shore. Dad, Uncle Steve, my sisters Shelley, Sarah and I would all valiantly attempt to hold back the sea with large sand walls, deep trenches and lots of shells and stones, but alas to no avail.  The surf always won in the end, but watching the final destruction was also half the fun.

The year I turned ten my Nan taught me to swim at Studland, it is one of those picture perfect memories indelibly written on the fabric of my mind.  I remember how firmly I believed that I was a real mermaid and bless her heart, my Nan didn’t contradict me. Some years later I wrote the following poem about my experience learning to swim at Studland with my Nan.

THE LITTLE MERMAID

If I hold my breath, if I dive real deep, Nan, will the mermaids come and fetch me?
If I close my eyes, if I swim real fast, will I get my mermaid tail at last?
If I sit on the sand, with the sea on head, will I find the mermaid’s bed?

I have to be the little mermaid again; the ten year old girl who believed in miracles, that if she held her breath for long enough, her legs would dissolve and she would be the mermaid beneath the waves. Dancing in the surf, diving in the shallows, revolving around her grandmother’s legs, like yesterday had never happened, that today would never end and there would never be a tomorrow. She lives in me still, the brown eyed, sun kissed child that made her grandmother laugh with the absurdity of her belief and the strength of her conviction. At one with her own nature and the world that she surrounds herself within. Lost within her words, weaving stories around those she loves to fascinate and entice with her picture of another world, a world through her eyes, a world that only she can truly behold.

I feel sometimes as if the cup of my emotion would never cease to overflow, my soul too big for this meagre earthbound frame, spilling out and infecting others with my heightened emotions. An almost frightening power, it slumbers restlessly beneath the surface of the organised and rational woman who stands before you now. I guess she is my artist, she is the words, the movement that courts the tempo, the paint strokes that flow from my hand, the voice in my head that drives me to write, the vision that sees before I ever create the shapes of which only I know the true meaning and the whisper of a thrill that drives me as my body melds to the music. Yet she is also the insidious whisperer, who can drive me to distraction, who can take me to the depths of despair as quickly as she can launch me into the moonlight to bask amongst the stars. And so again it begins to sound like poetry…

If I hold my breath, if I dive real deep, Nan, will the mermaids come and fetch me?
If I close my eyes, if I swim real fast, will I get my mermaid tail at last?
If I sit on the sand, with the sea on head, will I find the mermaid’s bed?

Awaken little mermaid, I truly need to find you.
Ruth Weal 08 November 2006 6.24 am
Copyright R.Weal 2006

Dedicated to two special women
For Nan, for never telling me I could not be the Mermaid of my daydreams
For Susie, for giving me a reason to write the words and find my little mermaid again
x

Swanage Bay

Swanage Sunset - Copyright R.Weal 2006

And now we fix our gaze on Swanage Bay.  Just around the corner from Corfe Castle and Studland, it forms the third point in a geographical triangle of mystical power and protection for me.

Swanage was always where we went for our early evenings after a day out at the beach on Studland.  Fish and chips eaten with legs dangling over the edge of the path down into the harbour.  Wrapped up warm in cardigans to keep out the evening sea breeze.  Fending off the seagulls out to nab our chips (I had a fair few stolen from my fingers) and then into the penny arcades to win a piece of tat and waste some 2ps on the shove ha’ penny machines.

It was with great pleasure to me that Ben and I took Dylan to Swanage and introduced him to all my favourite things to do and it was heartening to see that he enjoyed it as much as I had at his age and that over the years so little had changed.  But what is always enchanting to me is that my enjoyment of the activities had not dimmed in the intervening years between my child and adulthood.

Swanage - Copyright R.Weal 2006

The whole family, grandparents and Uncle Steve included spent a summer holiday in Swanage when I was ten.  I remember clearly the self catering house we had rented high up on the hill and the long walk up from the town centre to get to it.  I remember my parents worrying about our Volkswagen Beetle’s brakes, leaving it in reverse to ensure it was still there when we got up in the morning!

It was that holiday where my Granddad and Uncle Steve successfully got me to put a saucepan on my head and of course my Uncle Steve had his camera handy to record the moment for posterity!  I never did live that one down, it was almost as memorable as the time I excitedly flashed my Granddad my new bra – well it was my first one and I was about 9 at the time!  Truth be told I didn’t have a lot to put into my 24 AA cup anyway ;-P

Well, not to change the subject, but back to the saucepan – you’re probably wondering how they got me to put it on my head in the first place?  Well my Granddad being a first rate deadpan joker had asked me why I was taking a saucepan up the stairs.  When I informed him that there wasn’t a shower head attachment in the bathroom so the saucepan was being used for rinsing of hair he promptly asked me if it would fit and muggins here said “of course”, stuck it on my head and then heard the click of Uncle Steve’s camera.  Yes, I was well and truly got!

Deserted Swanage Bay at 6 am - Copyright R.Weal 1998

I have always loved the little curio shops in Swanage and I could and have spent hours walking in and around them perusing the various items of curiosity, tat and art that they contain.  Even today where many other town high streets are becoming devoid of any diversity Swanage remains a beacon, an oasis of individuality that always heartens me.

There are a number of alternative clothing outlets and I remember I bought a pair of trousers in one of them back in the mid 90s that I still had until a year or two ago.  The patterns on the waist band were faded beyond recognition and the fabric was falling apart, but I had worn those trousers religiously throughout the 90s and into the 00s and it was a really difficult decision to finally let them go.

Swanage Open Air Theatre Sketch - Copyright R.Weal 1998

One of my favourite things about Swanage is the open air theatre and it is a place that I’ve often visited over the years, especially around my birthday, I sketched the picture on the right of the open air theatre as the sun was fading on my birthday back in 1998.

Throughout the summer Swanage puts on a beautiful fireworks display every Saturday night that attracts people from far and wide.  The best vantage point for viewing the fireworks is definitely up on the hill or on the open air theatre.  If you’ve never seen the fireworks you really should go along, especially as they are free!  Get there early (they start at about 8.30 to 9 pm) to get your fish and chips before the queues get too long and to make sure you get a good place to view them as it is very popular, especially in the School summer holidays.

In 1998 I spent my first and only birthday to date alone sat up on the hill looking down over the open air theatre watching the fireworks.  It was as if they had been put on especially for me and it was a wonderful culmination to what was a great day and part of a very special pilgrimage for me.

Swanage is an excellent place to take a holiday or day trip out to.  There’s lots to see and do and it’s also a great base for exploring the surrounding area within the Purbeck Isle.

Wareham Forest

Pine Cones on Branch - Copyright R.Weal 2009

Wareham forest is a stretch of forest that we always used to drive past on our way to Studland beach and also the location of the bumpy road that I mentioned above.  It’s seems strange that as a child we never stopped to walk around this lovely evergreen pine forest, but then again when you’ve got three young girls eager to get to the beach perhaps it’s not so strange!

I didn’t really come to appreciate Wareham forest until I was an adult.  I’ve visited a few times and always had my camera with me to take some pictures of the flora and fauna that is on show in abundance from spring through autumn.

Lichen Close Up - Copyright R.Weal 2009

As someone who has grown up in an area dominated primarily by deciduous forests Wareham forest also has a slightly alien and foreign feel to it that is very appealing to me.  Sometimes it is good to walk in a different world, even if it is only an hour or so away from home.

Wareham forest has some lovely walks, with well trodden and mapped paths which don’t require too much effort to navigate and are not challenging in terms of terrain.  A nice post-Sunday lunch walk could easily take in a good part of the forest and leave you feeling like you walked off the extra roast spud you shouldn’t really have eaten, but not leaving you feeling like you climbed Mount Everest!  It’s also a great place to visit to pick up a few fallen pine cones to decorate for your Christmas Tree.

Lulworth Cove

Finally we come to Lulworth Cove, which I didn’t discover until I was in my early twenties.  It is a beautiful little cove round the corner from Swanage, Studland and Corfe.  Think challenging windswept cliff walks with outstanding views and you’ve pretty much got Lulworth Cove pegged.

One narrow and hilly road descends through the tiny little village, which leads you down into the cove itself.  There’s a large and well equipped  visitor centre which makes it clear to you immediately that this is a National Trust protected piece of coastline.  There’s also ample parking and facilities as well as some local shops and pubs.

Map of the South West Coast Path

If you’re looking for more than a few curio shops and seaside vendors, a good bite to eat with a pint followed by challenging walks with great views then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. The size and peacefulness of Lulworth is the next biggest attraction on top of the outstanding views and walks.

It’s part of the south west coast path, which is the longest way marked long distance path in the country and a national trail, which basically takes you round the south west “foot” of England, starting up in Minehead, Somerset, travelling across the top of Devon and Cornwall, round the tip of Land’s End, back through the bottom of Cornwall and Devon and into Dorset where it ends just past Studland.

Bassett Hound (Lulworth Cove Limestone Folding) - Copyright R.Weal 2009

Lulworth is also part of what is known as the Jurassic Coast, which has been deemed a world heritage site as it consists of Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous cliffs, spanning the Mesozoic Era, documenting 180 million years of geological history.  Lulworth is particularly known for the Cove and its fine example of Limestone folding.  You can see an example of this in the photograph to the left, the limestone folding here gives the impression of a sleeping bassett hound, at least it looks that way to me!

If you want to find out more about the Jurassic Coast the heritage centre at Lulworth Cove is a great resource.  If you’re lucky you might even find yourself a fossil down amongst the rocks and pebbles on the shore!

There isn’t really much more I can say about Lulworth, really it’s the breathtaking views that speak volumes, so I’ll let a few of my pictures do the talking instead of my words.

Lulworth Cove Blues - Copyright R.Weal 2009

Sunset Beach at Lulworth Cove - Copyright R.Weal 2009

Lulworth Cove Setting Sun - Copyright R.Weal 2009

South West Costal Path (Lulworth Cove) - Copyright R.Weal 2009

That concludes the second instalment of my Places of Pilgrimage, if you haven’t seen the first instalment please feel free to check it out and find out about the places I love in my home county of Wiltshire and specifically around the Salisbury Plain. Keep your eyes peeled for the final instalment number three – Glastonbury!

Tread safely in the light my friends.

Wealie
x

Salisbury Plain
Glastonbury

There are a few places that I make a pilgrimage to regularly, where I have a kinship and need to pay homage.  These places are all clustered around three key areas in the South West of England, the Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, Purbeck Isle in Dorset and Glastonbury in Somerset.  However as I was writing the article to include all the places in those areas it turned out to be far too long, so I decided to make this a three part article.  Today’s article is part one of three and starts with the area closest to home – the Salisbury Plain.

Salisbury Plain

Avebury Stone Avenue - Copyright R.Weal 2010

In, on and around the Salisbury Plain there are a lot of wonderful ancient monuments and sites of historic significance and beautiful landscapes, gardens and breathtaking views.  I love these places and always have done since I was a young child.  Brought up in a family where an appreciation for the richness of history and culture was consistently reinforced and encouraged meant that I was exposed to historic places like Avebury, Silbury Hill, Stonehenge and Kennet Long Barrow on a regular basis.  An appreciation for the beauty and awe inspiring power of nature was bred by numerous visits to places like Stourhead, run by the National Trust and Heaven’s Gate and Shearwater Lake, which are both on the Longleat Estate.

Something about the feats that the builders of the monuments at Avebury, Silbury Hill, Stonehenge and Kennet Long Barrow achieved lent an air of stupefied solemnity to me even as a young child.  I never pass them without a feeling of reverence and pride that I have lived most of my life amongst them and that others travel hundreds of miles for just a glimpse of them and yet right now I drive past them all every day on my way to and from work.

Sunset Stone at Avebury - Copyright R.Weal 2010

Of them all Avebury is the closest to my heart, a place to go and contemplate, the nearest place I have to a church, where I can commune with nature and the power of the Earth itself.  A place where you might find me on the night of a full moon making offerings to concepts bigger than myself.  During the day it is a place I love to have my camera at hand, to capture the desolate beauty of the surrounding countryside, offset against the magnificence of the Avenue and Rings of Stones.  A truly magical and mysterious place that everyone should visit at least once in their life.

When it comes to sheer appreciation of beautiful views I cannot choose between Heaven’s Gate, Shearwater Lake and Stourhead.  All three have very different aspects that I enjoy.

Heaven's Gate Ring - Copyright R.Weal 2007

With Heaven’s Gate most people visit to see the magnificent view down onto the Longleat Estate, but most quickly come to realise that there is so much more to this area, which becomes a riot of colour with the rhododendrons in the spring, the effervescent green of the summer and the autumnal perfection with the turning of the leaves come early October and even in winter the views are quite stunning!  Added to this is the the addition of the Stone Ring and horse shoe of standing stones which were erected as part of the Millennium celebrations.  It’s a beautiful spot for contemplation, photography and an appreciation of the beauty of the British countryside.

As a child we would visit Heaven’s Gate every year for the spring Rhododendrons and the autumnal procession.  I remember thinking it must be some sort of magical place where fairies and angels lived to be called Heaven’s Gate.  In my youth I never quite understood that it was the beauty of the place and it’s views that had lent it such an auspicious name.

Shearwater is a beautiful man made fresh water lake that sits on the outskirts of the Longleat Estate. It’s popular for fishing, sailing, walking, cycling and of course photography.  Shearwater is situated nicely between Longleat and Warminster in a picturesque area of Wiltshire on the cusp of the Deverills at Crockerton.

Last Peek (Shearwater Lake) - Copyright R.Weal 2010

The lake is surrounded by many beautiful specimens of deciduous and evergreen trees and shrubs/bushes such as Rhododendrons.  There’s lots of wildlife on and in the lake, from the fresh water fish – carp, bream, roach, perch, tench and rudd to the many water fowl – Canada geese, ducks and sea gulls.  In the woods the sharp eyed will see numerous grey squirrels and if you’re lucky you might even spot a deer or two peeking out from the dense foliage of ferns.

As a child I used to love running free through the small forest that skirts the lake, walking with my family as my Dad explained things about nature that I found absolutely fascinating and he would make me walking sticks, tickle my back with assorted pieces of foliage and engender a great love and affinity for the woodland around me.  When I visit there these days I am often with camera in hand, but the child within me still has the urge to run wild through the forests and I am transported back to simpler times.

Palladian Bridge and Pantheon view through the trees at Stourhead - Copyright R.Weal 2006

Stourhead was always a full day out.  A beautiful house and managed gardens (I didn’t really appreciate the house as a child).  My sisters and I used to love running through this beautiful garden estate which has various exotic and local varieties of trees some of which date back to the mid 1700s and were planted right at the garden’s inception by Henry Hoare II.  It was Henry who had the gardens designed and created between 1741 and 1780 in a classical 18th Century design, with a central lake as a focal point.  The inspiration for the gardens came from painters such as Claude Lorrain, Poussin and most notably Gaspar Dughet, who painted Utopian style views of Italian landscapes.

The gardens must have been a great labour of love for him and it shows through the attention to detail and the feeling you get of effortlessly walking from one world to the next, so masterfully planned and deliciously executed. Trees and shrubs were brought in from all over the world and successive generations of Hoares added to and enhanced the gardens until it was passed on to the National Trust in 1946 who have continued to care for the house and develop the gardens.

Palladian Bridge in twilight (Stourhead) - Copyright R.Weal 2006

On the surface it would seem that Stourhead bears much in common with Shearwater Lake, a lake at the heart, surrounded by woodland, but Stourhead is a much more controlled and deliberate environment than Shearwater.  This both adds to and detracts from it – the sense of raw, untameable beauty I experienced in the Shearwater Lake forest is missing, but the beautifully crafted temples, bridges and grotto that are dotted throughout the gardens enhance the sense of otherworldliness and a magical timelessness.  The exotic trees and shrubs bring to life vistas many would never have seen without the efforts of the Hoare family.

As a child Stourhead was a place of exploration and adventure, a place to let lose knowing that your parents were just a little way back along the path.  A place to picnic and eat ice-cream in the Spread Eagle Inn just outside the gardens.  I always seem to “glow” when I visit Stourhead, as an adult there are just too many images to capture and like Shearwater Lake and Heaven’s gate spring brings a riot of colour through the Rhododendrons and Autumn is a spectacle of red and gold.

I feel peaceful and right when I’m at Stourhead and that’s a feeling that everyone should be able to experience and cherish.

Well that’s it for this instalment, I hope you enjoyed my memories of the places I love on the Salisbury plain and perhaps I’ve whetted your appetite for a visit.  Don’t forget to watch out for part two of my places of pilgrimage – The Purbeck Isle, where I’ll explore some of my most treasured holiday memories.

Sleep tight pilgrims, see you on the next wagon train.

Wealie
x

The Isle of Purbeck
Glastonbury

School boy Uncle Steve - Copyright R.Weal 2010

Today I’m dedicating my blog post to my Uncle Stephen, better known to those who loved him as Steve.  He would have been 60 today, but sadly died 20 years ago this March just passed, not quite making 40.

Uncle Steve was a remarkable man because when he was a teenager he developed Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma and was not expected to survive. He spent much of his mid to late teens in hospital fighting for his life, but against the odds he survived and went on to become a truly inspirational influence in my young life.

I’m exceptionally grateful that he lived through his childhood trauma and greatly saddened that it came back to take him far too early when I was just a girl of 14 and he only 39.  He fought with such courage and passion for life, but he was a sacred gift right from the beginning and his time with his family sadly ran out.  I hope that wherever he is right now he’s bringing a bit of the joy and happiness that he brought to me and my family.

He was such a positive person, he didn’t let a day go by where he didn’t live it to the fullest.  He wasn’t obsessed with material wealth and the transitory things in life, family, friends and enjoying his life were of foremost importance.

Maybe it was because he had a brush with death at such a young age, but I think mainly it was down to his positive personality and zest for life that he was such an inspiration and joy to spend time with. He was always available to me and I cannot recall one day when he didn’t have a smile for me!

Uncle Steve and Ruth - Copyright R.Weal 2010

He didn’t have a high powered job, he prized having time to visit the beach, play badminton and squash as far more important than being tied to a desk job!  He was a drinks machine repairman, which allowed him to travel all over the south of England.  I remember all the Radio 1 roadshow t-shirts he collected as he visited the roadshows whilst out working on the road.

He loved his music and even though I was probably a very annoying young girl at times he was always happy to let me sit in his bedroom and choose what music we would listen to next.  He must have gotten very bored every time I wanted to put on Jeff Wayne’s musical version of War of the Worlds.  I remember the day he first got Michael Jackson’s Thriller album  - I felt so grown up as he let me put the tape into his ghetto blaster and I recall clinging to him as I heard the Vincent Price rap for the first time.

Up a tree with Uncle Steve and Dad - Copyright R.Weal 2010

He always bought me the coolest presents, he really understood my artistic leanings and went out of his way to support and cultivate it in me.  Always buying me pencils, pens, paints and art materials and spoiling me with books that I devoured almost as quickly as he bought them for me.

My Dad and Uncle Steve were instrumental in shaping my love of music.  Listening to music in his room whilst they made their wine are some of my fondest memories.

I remember just before Christmas when I was 11, Uncle Steve spent an afternoon getting me to listen to loads of tapes in his bedroom, asking me which songs I liked best.  I had no idea why he was doing it, but it was one of the best memories of my childhood.  That Christmas I got my first walkman and guess what I had in my stocking?  Two back to back recorded tapes with Tina Turner’s Private Dance, Michael Jackson’s Thriller, Go West’s debut album Go West and a Paul Young Compilation.

I think I was more impressed with the tapes than I was with the walkman!  Some people perhaps would have preferred to have new tapes bought for them, but my family wasn’t exactly well off.  Aside from that, the fact he had taken the time to first find out what I would like and then record them personally for me, going to the trouble of writing out each song neatly on the covers was very special to me even then.  I played those tapes over and over until they ceased to work.

Uncle Steve as I remember him best - Copyright R.Weal 2010

As a young girl I was very much the tom boy, preferring to spend time with my Dad and Uncle Steve doing things traditionally associated with boys!  I loved climbing the tree in the back of my Nan’s garden and helping my Dad out with his carpentry (my bottom has held down numerous pieces of wood that my Dad was sawing).

Then there was the wine making – my Dad and Uncle Steve made wine pretty much throughout my childhood and I have fond memories of helping to crush the fruit, prepare the corks, washing the bottles and going out to pick the fruit. They used to take an almost sadistic pleasure in getting me to taste the wine, knowing how much I disliked the taste and every year I was duped into believing it would taste better this time. I never did develop a palate for wine! Those days were magical to me and I hold those memories very close to my heart.

Uncle Steve and Dad at my parents wedding - Copyright R.Weal 2010

My Uncle Steve was my Dad’s best friend, his best man at his wedding and godfather to his first born – me.  The two of them had such fun together it was impossible not to enjoy yourself when we were together.  Whether it was picking fruit, walking along the canal in Bradford on Avon, driving down to Studland beach and so many family holidays together that I cannot begin to recount the wonderful memories.

I feel exceptionally privileged to have been a part of my Uncle Steve’s life and I know that my family was never the same after he died, but the memories we all carry of him brighten our lives infinitely and I hope that just a little of him magic will rub off here on you!

I hope that you’ve enjoyed my trip down memory lane with my pictures and recollections, it has been a warming and happy experience for me. Below are a couple of poems that I wrote about my Uncle Steve a number of years back, it seemed fitting now to share them here with you on the 60th anniversary of his birth.

Happy 60th b.day Uncle Steve, wherever you are I hope you are happy and well!

Wealie x

YOU LEFT ME

It seems like only yesterday, and yet the years have slipped by so effortlessly, I am no longer the girl you left behind, I am both infinitely more and less. I wonder did you ever understand the effect your life had upon me, I wonder did you love me the way I loved you? You left me.

You never said goodbye, you never gave me words of wisdom to live by. You left my life with nothing to say, I had so much anger, such feelings of betrayal and hate. I thought I had left them behind me, put them in their rightful box, but on a threshold I stand and these feelings back in my hands. You left me.

Wealie with her favourite Uncle - Copyright R.Weal 2010

I haven’t visited you for a while, I know why, because to you I cannot lie. You saw into my heart and pulled out the truth, you understood a little bit what it meant to be Ruth. But you left me without a reason why, left me to turn inward and cry. You left me.

The pain of your loss consumed me, it ate at my soul and since the day of your passing I have never been whole. So I learned to embrace pain, to make suffering my fate. Trust, love, devotion all words I grew to hate. You left me.

I looked out over the abyss hoping to find you on the other side, but you were not there. I saw only nothing, it just wasn’t fair. I know you are here with me, I feel you by me all the time, but just once more I would wish to know your hand holding mine. You left me.

What pains me most I cannot cure, for since you left me I can only love you more. And now at my threshold you push me forward, I hear you call me coward, but can I really afford to lose any more of my soul, I’m not sure I am strong enough to face feeling even less whole. You left me.

Ruth Weal
2.17am 30 April 1998
Copyright R.Weal 1998 ©

For Stephen Colin Weal

The three Weal brothers, Ade, Steve & Malc - Copyright R.Weal 2010

BASKING

The sun has risen high today and the air is filled with the scent and taste of heat. The breeze whispers in suggestive tones as I lay here at the bottom of the garden, in the place where my uncle used to bask in the reflective glow of the sun, worshipping its light in thanks for seeing another day.

He was at peace here, between the shed and the greenhouse, the sun kissing his face, the wind caressing his back. And now it is I, between what is left of the shed and the rubble that was the greenhouse, looking up at a tree so bold and beautiful that was a meek and mild sapling that my sister had planted.

Things change and yet remain the same; someone will always be basking in the kiss of the sun and the caress of the wind. Things are born, age and die and now I see the sapling oak that my father has planted and I wonder when it grows strong and tall what history it will have seen….

Ruth Weal
18 June 2000 03.15 am
Copyright R.Weal 2000 ©

IF ONLY YOU COULD SEE ME NOW

Five, nearly six long years
Five summers have been born and died
Yet another begins to rise
The sun your everlasting companion still rises and falls
Though it mourns your loss
Duty still calls
Days, weeks, months go by and you’re free from my mind
Then thoughts of you ram me like a lightening bolt
A mind felt pain that pulses through my soul
And a part of me realises
I shall never be whole
You were my mentor, my first great love
I’m still so angry
So violently mad
I know that you are safe
I know I should be glad
But still inside it hurts so bad
Why you?
Who made the decision?
Why did they decide it should be you?
I want some answers and I want them now
But I don’t know where to look
And I don’t know how
I wish that I could tell you what I’m feeling tonight
Wish that that you could hold me when I’m gripped by fright
Life isn’t as easy with you not here
Without your support there seems so much more to fear
If only you could see me now
I hope that I have made you proud
I know that you love me
And the distance between us isn’t really that far
For that special place in my heart
My soul, my being, belonging to you
An everlasting replay of the special times we shared
I just wanted to remind you that I still cared….

Ruth Weal, June 1999
Copyright R.Weal 2000 ©

For Uncle Steve
All my love, I miss you
Ruth
xxxx

Heaven Scent - Copyright R.Weal 2007

I’ve always loved roses since I was a little girl and my Nan had a wonderful set of rose bushes outside the front of her house that she was always proud of.  Nan’s pride is not surprising as her roses were much admired!  She would always let me pick one to take home with me because I loved the scents.

This yellow tea rose is called “Heaven Scent” and I photographed it at the 2007 Bath & West Show which is an annual agricultural show that has become a bit of a tradition to visit with my Dad and when she’s free my sister Shelley!  The show always has lots of lovely plants, a beautiful flower tent, oodles of lovely fresh food, loads of animals, competitions and lots of interesting country  and craft stalls.

It’s always held at the end of May/beginning of June and there is always at least one stall with the finest Cotswold  Strawberries, which are the best in the world and alone are worth the entry fee!!

Passion - Copyright R.Weal 2007

Red roses were always my Nan’s favourite and “Passion” had a deep heady scent to it that brought to mind the conversations my Nan and I often had about roses and red ones in particular.

Nan said red roses always reminded her of the ones she had carried in her wedding bouquet. That they were a beautiful symbol of her enduring love that she shared with my Granddad.  Nan was admittedly a bit of a romantic, but when you spend over 60 yrs with the same person in your life and still feel in love with them to the end I think you’re entitled to be a romantic!

I decided to buy the rose bush “Passion” that was the subject of this picture and I planted it in my own garden in her memory.

IF I MARRY, LET HIM BE A FLAMENCO DANCER

“If I marry”
she said
“Let him be a flamenco dancer
With lithe feet
And graceful passion
I will fall into his embrace
In the gypsy fashion”

“If I marry”
She said
“Let him be a flamenco dancer
For he stole my breath
With the fire in his feet
And my heart’s true rhythm
Is forever linked to a flamenco beat”

“If I marry”
She said
“Let him be a flamenco dancer
For he tore from me my passion in the blink of an eye
And gave me elation on an exhaled sigh
For I gave him my heart, my essence, my soul
And without his flamenco
I will never be whole

“If I marry”
She softly sighed
“Please, let him be a flamenco dancer”

Ruth Weal
16 June 2007 12.18 am
Copyright R.Weal 2007 ©

The first two verses were written after watching the breathtakingly beautiful Paco Peña’s A Compás Flamenco show from the Salisbury International Arts Festival on 01 June 2007.

Will I find you in the light - Copyright R.Weal 2007

I wasn’t planning to speak at the funeral, but found myself needing to get up and speak about the woman she was to me.  At the request of my Auntie Chris I have written up the eulogy below.  It sums up my off the cuff speech at the funeral and says everything else that I would have wanted to say of her influence on my life.

Maria Wnek – My Babcia

Today I want to speak about the type of person that Maria Wnek was and what we can all learn and take from the way she lived her life.  I never knew her as Maria; to me she was always a grandmother, my Babcia.  But I know that she was many things to many people, daughter, sister, cousin, mother, friend and most importantly a lover and devoted wife.

Babcia was a woman of incredible strength and seemingly never ending generosity; she experienced and suffered more in her young life than any one should ever have to.  Her indomitable spirit and will to live meant that she survived the terrors of war and her separation from family and friends at a tender age.  She had the tremendous courage to leave her home with next to nothing, to forge a new life, in a new land where she would make new friends and have a family, but also face the injustice of prejudice and hate.  Yet for all that this woman saw and experienced the harsh realities and cruelties of life, she never ceased to see the good in people.

I remember her most in her kitchen, the consummate cook, preparing enough food to feed the 5,000, even when she just had 5 people for Saturday lunch.  Her kitchen table filled with pasta and pastries for pierogi and Chruścik, not to mention the humongous pot of bigos stewing on the stove.  The sense memories of all those foods weaves around me, transporting me back to the days when I felt loved, safe and warm and of course well fed in her presence.  Her generosity meant that you never went hungry, in fact usually the opposite and there was always a big bag of something to take home with you along with another piece of cut glass crystal or crockery.

My house is full of memories, individual cut glass mementos, beautiful pieces of crystal and a wonderful dinner set that she had commissioned for me when I was just 11!  Each item indelible with the memory of the care she took in choosing it for me, the joy it gave her in the giving and the light it lit in her eyes to see my enjoyment of it.  Her pride in her homeland and the beautiful craftsmanship of her people shone through her like a lone candle in the darkness.  No matter how long she lived in England and how well she made it her home, her heart always belonged to Poland.  Babcia’s devotion to ensuring that she did whatever she could do for those friends and loved ones still in Poland was a lesson none of us should forget.  I remember numerous trips to markets with her, haggling with the stall holders for the very best deal, buying clothes and goods that every year without fail she took back home to Poland.

I remember her smile, her gentle touch and her infectious giggle, how she would always bring her hand over her heart whenever she laughed or cried, as if her heart was so big, she had to keep her hand there to prevent it from leaping out with the emotion that overtook it.  The way she hugged you as if her very life and yours depended upon it.  The overwhelming gratitude for every moment you spent in her presence and her amazement at even the smallest gift that you gave her.  Her friendship brought succour and warmth to so many; all of her family and friends can honour her, take that friendship freely given and deliver it up to another, bring warmth and peace, generosity and love in her name and she will always walk in you.

Our loss is great, but Babcia was bigger than the life she led, she lives on in each of us, her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.  We carry the legacy of a truly amazing woman in the blood that runs deep within our veins.  It is our duty and our great privilege to make immortal the woman that was Maria Wnek, not just through our blood, but in the deep values of generosity and selflessness she gave us and in the lessons of life, strength of spirit and great personal courage that she taught us simply by living her life.

We all have wonderful memories of our experience in her presence and I urge you all, in the cold moments when her loss seems too much to bare, take out your memories, enfold them in your heart and let just the memory of her warmth infuse you and you will no longer feel the cold.

Tread safely Babcia and know that in word and deed, in blood and love, we honour you.

For Maria Wnek – devoted wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, sister, daughter, cousin and friend.

Ruth Weal - 28 September 2010 10.58 pm
Copyright R.Weal 2010 ©

The poem “With A Glance He Remembered” is one of these inspired creations and the topic of this post.  It was inspired by the picture below – Still Saying Goodbye by one of my first and very best flickr contacts Waking Dream, who went on to become a great friend too.

The picture is from Waking Dream’s 365 days project, where you take a self portrait for each day of a whole year and upload them to flickr.  I hope you enjoy my poem and that you take a moment to explore Waking Dream’s photostream, you won’t regret it!

With A Glance He Remembered

Day 034: Still Saying Goodbye - By Waking Dream, Copyright 2007

With a glance he remembered
In his heart they will always remain
With a sigh he hankered for all that he had lost
In his soul the love that he holds in trust
With a photo he marked their pasting
In him the sweet memories everlasting
With a moment he sought release
And with a tear he made his peace

For Skip – Who inspired this little piece with his pic “Still Saying Goodbye”

Ruth Weal - 19 June 2007 12.37 am
Copyright R.Weal 2007 All rights reserved ©

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