In Insula Avalonia - Glastonbury Abbey

Springtime, as elusive as it is this year in Toronto, always reminds me of Glastonbury.

From my days In Insula Avalonia, I can still recall refreshing walks along the crest of Wearyall Hill, along the dragon’s back of the Tor, and down Paradise Lane through the squelching mud to the giants, Gog and Magog.

Spring is still a time of rejuvenation in this place. After the rains have stopped, the magpies and blackbirds are out, flitting from fence post to hedge row, squawking at passers by.

Everywhere you look, snow drops and bluebells are peaking out of the ground in satisfying clusters, the dew still thick on their tiny flowers if you happen to be out in the morning.

Nestled between Wearyall Hill, Chalice Hill, and the Tor, is another sanctuary – Glastonbury Abbey.

Model in the Abbey Museum

The Abbey grounds, like other sancturaries in town, are a place to get away to. You have to pay to get in, but once you walk through the arch, past another desendent of the Holy Thorn, and onto the green lawns surrounding these magnificent ruins, you are set to experience a whole new aspect of Glastonbury.

The ruins of what was once one of the largest abbeys in England rise up from the soft ground, sentry-still, surrounded by mist. ‘Majestic’ is a word I would use to describe the ruins, and ‘sad’. When you see the model of what the place looked like at its height of power and prominence, you understand.

Glastonbury abbey was not always such a soaring monument of Christianity. The lovely ruins that can be seen today are a medieval creation, the remains of which date from the twelfth to sixteenth centuries. But the place itself is said to be the site of the first Christian church and oldest religious foundation in the British Isles.

According to tradition, Joseph of Arimathea and his followers built a wattle church on the site on land he was given by the local king, Arviragus, around the middle of the first century A.D.

Circa A.D. 160, two Christians named Faganus and Deruvianus are supposed to have added a stone structure on the site of what is the Lady Chapel. It is here that there is an ancient well dedicated to St. Joseph.

The Lady Chapel c.1900

In the early days of Christianity in Britain, this first chapel and the well were the predecessors of the magnificent ruins of the abbey we see today. The Lady Chapel was the site of the first Marian cult in Britain, and in the words of Geoffrey Ashe “there is no rival tradition whatsoever. When all of the fantastic mists have dispersed, ‘Our Lady St. Mary of Glastonbury’ remains a time-hallowed title.”

In one of the Welsh Triads, Glastonbury is given the distinction of having a ‘perpetual choir’.

It was a place that Christians gravitated to. Indeed, several Celtic saints are said to have come here, including St. Bridget, St. David, St. Columba, and even St. Patrick whom some stories name as the first abbot of Glastonbury.

Walking the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey is a contemplative activity, like so many other spots In Insula Avalonia.

Abbey Cloisters

It is supremely peaceful and there are all manner of flora in the gardens to add to the calm. Great trees shiver overhead when a breeze blows into town from across the Somerset levels.

You can stroll the scant remains of the cloisters and up the nave with the abbey’s stone titans looming over you. In a couple spots, you can lift a wooden cover to reveal some of the colourful tiles of the abbey floor.

And then toward the transept you come to an unassuming outline in the grass with a plaque marking it. This is where you meet with one of Glastonbury Abbey’s most mysterious connections.  

Floor Tiles

In 1184 a fire ravaged the abbey and the monks needed to rebuild. Around the time of the fire, a Welsh bard is supposed to have revealed to King Henry II that King Arthur himself was buried within the abbey grounds.

The king passed this information on to the Abbot of Glastonbury who later ordered excavations to be carried out. In 1191, it is said that the monks found the bones of a man and a woman in a hollowed out tree trunk who were none other than Arthur, and his queen, Guinevere.

With the remains was a lead cross with the words ‘Hic Jiacet Sepultus Inclytus Rex Arturius in Insula Avallonia’ which translates as ‘Here lies buried the renowned King Arthur in the Isle of Avalon’.

The Arthur Cross

The Elizabethan antiquarian, William Camden, did a sketch of the Arthur cross in the early 17^th century.

A lot of doubt has been cast on the monks’ discovery with many believing that it was a hoax created by the monks to boost tourism through pilgrimage. The remains were treated as relics and later moved within the abbey during the reign of Edward I in the early 13^th century.

It is important to note that the archaeologist who excavated the abbey in the 1960s, Dr. Ralegh Radford, indicated that the monks’ story might not have been that far-fetched, and that there was indeed a person of great import from the correct period buried in the graveyard just south of the Lady Chapel.

The Abbot's Kitchen

As with all things In Insula Avalonia, belief is always a part of the great equation.

There are other buildings associated with the abbey too, including the Abbot’s Kitchen where the Benedictine brothers would have prepared meals, and the Abbey Barn which is now home to the Somerset Rural Life Museum.

The site is lovely and inspiring. Tradition on the abbey grounds goes back ages to the very roots of Christianity in Britain and beyond.

As I would sit on a bench, listening to the birds and the breeze, gazing upon the ruins, I would imagine St. Joseph arriving with his followers and picking out the spot for that first chapel. Perhaps they had something in common with the druids and priestesses of the goddess who might have already been there? Perhaps a common yearning for peace and truth?

It is sad that Henry VIII robbed us of the physical beauty of Glastonbury Abbey in the great Dissolution. The last abbot was dragged to the top of the Tor and beheaded by the King’s henchman, Cromwell.

For this place to function peacefully and unmolested from its earliest time, through Saxon incursions and Norman invasions, speaks to its agreed importance over the ages.

The majesty of this place may lie in ruins now, but its spirit and mystery certainly remain intact.

Thank you for reading.

To learn more about Glastonbury Abbey, visit the Abbey website HERE.

For The Love Of It

They say write about things that you love or are passionate about. They say write a story that moves you, a story that you would like to read. Pick a research topic that you want to jump into etcetera, etcetera.

I think most writers know this. It only makes sense. You won’t find me writing about the internal workings of a frog or the process of assembling a microchip. I was never that good at science and I totally flunked computer programming. Those subjects were just not interesting to me; not to say they wouldn’t be riveting for someone else.

However (yes, here’s the ‘but’), what happens when you get sick of something you enjoy so much that you just have to walk away? It happens to all of us. Whether it is a research paper, work of non-fiction or a novel, there comes a point when you can have too much of a good thing. We don’t want to admit it, perhaps because it feels like failure or that it ignites the self-doubt that has been held at bay? Much of the time it is due to outside influences, roadblocks to our success, negativity or lack of support.

This happened to me several years ago with my own Master’s thesis which was a look at the archaeological, historical and toponymic evidence for the site of the base of operations of the historical Arthur – ie. ‘Camelot’.  Arthurian studies has always been my specialization. I have always been fascinated by anything related to the period in Britain from when Rome quit her shores to the time of the Battle of Catraeth when the Britons made a valiant last stand against the Saxon invaders. The period is a maelstrom of both the ancient and medieval periods, a time of mystery, heroism, romance and of course controversy.

South Cadbury Castle, Somerset

When I decided on my thesis of course there were sniggers from the academics about me, even though a huge amount of academic work had been done over the years on the period and my subject. Still, I persisted because I loved the subject. I travelled to sites around Britain, camera and sketchbook in hand. I wrote a book outlining the various theories and my own thesis. I had peer reviews done, made changes, all the usual editing. My subject had been accepted by my professors and supervisor and so, having completed all the work, I handed it in. It felt good, I had really accomplished something. At least I felt so until it was handed back to me for rewrites, big ones. The academics who had approved the subject and outline and had read drafts throughout the writing process decided to change their minds.

This was not good. All the months of work that were rejected birthed a giant ball of academic rage. I may have strode out to the West Sands of St. Andrews to yell at the North Sea. I can’t remember but I don’t think distraught graduate students were an unusual sight. Anyhow, long story short, after a few pints of Guinness I hunkered down and gave them what they wanted, got my degree and pressed on with life.

But there were wounds to lick and because of that experience I became fed up with Arthurian studies. Yes, blasphemy indeed. I couldn’t go near anything remotely Arthurian for several months and so plunged headlong into the ancient world which, as it turns out, opened new doors. The point is that even though I loved the subject, I couldn’t take any more for a long time. I just couldn’t enjoy it. It was like the lingering taste of blood in my mouth after a fight.

After months of ignoring my beloved Arthuriana however, I decided that enough was enough and began to go back to the roots of what I loved about it: the mystery, the romance of the legends. My wife and I moved to Somerset (where I have my own roots) to live just outside Glastonbury. We took weekly walks in Insula Avalonia, climbing the Tor, drinking from the Chalice Well and once more climbing the ramparts of the hill fort at South Cadbury Castle. We even took our long-awaited trip to Cornwall to see Tintagel, Slaughterbridge, Dozmary Pool and Arthur’s Hunting Lodge on Bodmin Moor. The magic had returned and so had my love of the subject but it would not have happened if I had not done anything about it.

Arthur receiving Excalibur

Stepping back was good, I think. I needed to take a break to let the academic grease leach away. There is a lot to be said for the philosophy of being like grass in the wind or water in a brook. We all face challenges to our work or art, opposition to the things that we believe in with force and passion. Of course we can’t all agree, we’re human after all. History teaches us that much!

So what can we do to throw a lifeline to the things we are passionate about when our love of them is drowning? For history-related subjects (after all, that is what this blog is about), I always like watching inspiring movies or listening to my favourite soundtracks (see the Eagles and Dragons playlist on Facebook - May 17 post). Emulate the habits of past people (obviously, not all would be a good idea!) such as lighting some incense or swinging a sword around – go on, have fun! Or, throw a feast for friends on an ancient or medieval (pick your period) theme using recipes from your chosen period cookbook. Grilled meat, thick candles and lots of wine in clay goblets is always a good time. Or put on that toga and recline to a meal of olive-stuffed chicken, fruit and burgers invented by Apicius himself. There is something for everyone. If sheep’s head and stuffed sparrows are your thing, go for it. You can top it all of with music - there are some great recordings of period music out there too if flute girls or lute players are not readily available. Have an actor friend? Get them to recite some Catullus!

I've gone on a bit, I know. Basically, as we create the art we love and try to make it work, fit it in, enjoy it, we need to ensure that we do not lose sight of why we started it in the first place. Every once in a while, when frustration begins to creep in, step back, take a few yoga breaths and remember what it was like way back when you looked at that painting or opened that book for the first time. Enjoy the feeling of standing on that windswept rampart watching crows wheel above grassy slopes where poppies bow about you as they did long ago for the people about whom you are writing.