Notes on 'Glimpses of Wessex'
These poems were all inspired by aspects of the Wessex landscape. Many are about seeing what is not obviously there, and may not really be about what they seem to be about. There is much more to the Wessex landscape than can be seen, heard, touched, tasted or smelt. This is true of everywhere, of course, but the unusual thing about Wessex, and much of the West Country, is that this spiritual landscape feels light rather than dark. So much of this country is so dominated by terrible things that have happened, or a spiritual death that is happening now, that Wessex stands out as a place where you can feel pleased, and it is glimpses of this that this poetry is about. Some, such as 'Little Durnford', are quite definitely about something that might have been there, or may have happened, but the distinction between the seen and the imagined in any case becomes blurred. Similarly, the significance seen in places ('The Lonely Rowan') or events ('White Horse') may be imagined at one level, but real at another level.
You might be inclined to scepticism, which is of course reasonable at first glance, but the more you know, the more unreasonable it becomes to dismiss the spiritual dimension, and you end up looking like those 'scientists' who could not accept the fact of continental drift, or those people who could not accept that the earth was round - ignoring the evidence because you do not understand 'how', or because the implications cause you discomfort.
Just one example from my own experience shows what I mean. It is useful because it was simultaneously observed by hundreds of people, and undoubtedly happened. It will of course be discounted as co-incidence, but this is merely to state the obvious - the issue is, does this astonishing co-incidence have significance?
In 1977 to 1978 I was an 'officer under training' at Britannia Royal Naval College, in Dartmouth. Every morning, everyone went on parade, on the parade ground that looked out over the Dart estuary. Every morning, the national anthem of a new country was played by the Royal Marine band, and the flag of that country was raised slowly up the mast, while everyone stood to attention watching. One morning, it was to be the Russian flag and anthem. The weather was unusual, we had not seen the like there. Pendulous dark grey clouds were scudding all over the place, letting occasional flashes of sun light up patches of the far hillside for perhaps five or six seconds at a time. Everyone knew it was to be the Russian anthem that morning, and the peculiar weather made it feel strange. There was no sunshine on the parade ground itself the whole time, but when the anthem started up, a patch of sunshine lit up the mast, the flag, and the ground immediately around it. As the anthem played and the flag was slowly raised, the patch of sunlight stayed still. With each bar, each phrase, you thought, 'the sun cannot stay shining', but it did, until the flag was up and the last note died away. Then the clouds closed over again, and the patch of sunshine was gone. Everything we did at that college was about defending us from the Russian threat, and it seemed we were being told something. No-one spoke about it afterwards. It was just too strange. If you are reading this and were actually there, please send me an email.
I've been thinking about putting some photographs of the places on a page on this site - if you'd like me to do that, please email me: Paul at McCombies.co.uk.
© Paul McCombie 2005