The Timelessness of Arthurian Tales

A couple of years ago, I wrote about a new series I had started watching called MERLIN.

As I said then, I was shocked by what I perceived as the ridiculous aspects of the show and how much they had changed the Arthurian cycle. However, after the first few episodes of the show I began to see its qualities and the wonderful ways in which it revived the Arthurian legend for a new generation.

This past weekend, I finished watching the fifth and final season of this BBC Series.

I’m actually a little sad that the series is done. I’m also surprised at how attached I became to many of the characters, especially the characters of Merlin and Arthur whose bantering, odd, loyal relationship is the central theme and strength of the series.

We all know that Arthur dies in the end. Of course he does. But I found myself hoping that maybe, just maybe, Arthur would survive. I wanted him to! The series had changed so many other aspects of the legend, why not change that? End things on a positive, uplifting note, right?

No. The death of Arthur in story is something that is inevitable, even for a modern interpretation. It’s the death of Arthur that shows the essential elements of tragedy, sacrifice, and hope for the future that are so crucial to Arthurian tales.

In MERLIN, the actors Colin Morgan and Bradley James manage to pull off an emotional, gut-wrenching final episode that is, to me, a worthy addition to the Arthurian canon.

After watching that final episode, I found myself dealing with a familiar feeling of sadness and longing in the pit of my stomach. It’s something I always feel when I finish watching or reading the story of Arthur and his knights.

This experience reminded me why I love Arthurian stories so much, and why I will never tire of them.

I grew up with the stories of Arthur. In fact, they are a big part of the person I have become, the ideals I hold to be true and important. They speak to me on many levels. They are timeless.

Historically, those few decades straddling the 5^th and 6^th centuries A.D gave rise, in my opinion, to some of the most important and moving literature and literary traditions since Homer composed the Iliad and the Odyssey.

Whether ‘Camelot’ was a late medieval castle, or a re-fortified Iron Age hill fort at South Cadbury doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant if the sword Excalibur rose out of the water in the hand of an ancient priestess or water nymph, or if it was cast as a solid piece of iron in a stone mould by a highly skilled smith.

What matters in the Arthurian cycle are the people, and the journeys that they take.

When I think about Arthurian legend, I think about a young boy facing his destiny, I think of lovers facing insurmountable odds, I think about brave and gifted people working to better the land they love.

When I think of these stories I think about ideals of chivalry that, real or imagined, are a bright light in a world that seems to be crumbling apart, pinioned as it is between the classical and early medieval worlds.

When I travelled to Glastonbury, Cadbury Castle, Birdoswald, Wroxeter, Dinas Emrys, Tintagel, or Caerleon, I wasn’t focussed so much on the archaeology and whether it supported the legends of those places.

What pulled me into those places, what grabbed my imagination and would not let go, were the stories and people associated with those places. Therein lies the true magic.

I’ll never forget the names of Balin and Balan, Eric and Enide, Sir Gawain and Sir Perceval, Tristan and Isolde, The Lady of Shalott, Lancelot, Guinevere, Uther, and Arthur, and so many more.

If my heart were a book shelf, there would be a scroll with a special space dedicated to every chapter of the Arthurian cycle.

I feel like I’ve watched the barge carrying Arthur’s body sail to Avalon countless times, and yet the cycle is always reborn inside of me, my mind, and my imagination.

Someday, when I’m ready, I’ll write my own version of the cycle in as historically accurate a way as possible. This has always been my goal.

But, even more so, I will write my own offering to the traditions in a way that the most inspiring aspects of the tales come to the fore.

It feels like an impossible task, but then, no quest is intended to be easy.

Thank you for reading.

Which are your favourite Arthurian tales? Share yours in the Comments box below!

In Insula Avalonia - Wearyall Hill and the Holy Thorn

Last time in this short series of posts, we looked at Glastonbury Tor.

Today, we’ll wander up the slopes of another prominent feature of the landscape that you pass as you approach Glastonbury from neighbouring village of Street: Wearyall Hill.

Wearyall Hill is, of course, home to one of Glastonbury’s most ancient treasures – the Holy Thorn.

Across the street from the Safeway, you can climb up Wearyall’s gentle slope to see a hawthorn tree known as the Glastonbury Thorn, or ‘Holy Thorn’. One popular legend associated with Wearyall Hill and the Holy Thorn is that in the years after Christ’s death, his uncle Joseph of Arimathea came with twelve followers by boat to Glastonbury. When they set foot on the hill, tired from their journey, Joseph plunged his staff into the ground and it took root.

There is actually some archaeological evidence for a dock or wharf on the slopes of Wearyall Hill that date from the period. Did Joseph of Arimathea actually arrive in Britain with the Holy Grail?

Joseph of Arimathea

Well, that depends on what you believe. And Glastonbury is just that, an amalgam of beliefs that live, for the most part, in harmony - Perhaps just as the Celts and early Christians did here around two thousand years ago?

Cuttings of the Thorn grow in three places in Glastonbury. What is interesting is that this variety of hawthorn is not native to Britain, but is a Syrian variety. Curiously, it flowers at Christmas and Easter, both sacred festivals for Pagans and Christians. Every holiday season, the Royal family is sent a clipping of this very special tree that hails from the earliest days of Christianity in Britain.

The current Thorn is not the original, but rather a descendant of the original which was burned down by Cromwell’s Puritans in the seventeenth century as a ‘relic of superstition’. How much destruction has been wrought on the ancient sites of Britain during the wars waged by Henry VIII and Oliver Cromwell? It’s horrifying to think about.

As with all other things in Glastonbury, Wearyall Hill and the Holy Thorn do not belong solely to the Christian past.

Thorn in Blossom - Glastonbury Abbey

The hawthorn tree was one of the most sacred trees to the Celts and is the sixth tree on the Druid tree calendar and alphabet. It is also known as the ‘May Tree’ because of when it blossoms most. May was sacred to the ancient Celts as the time of the festival of Beltane, a time for Spring ritual and worship of the Goddess.

In the Middle Ages, the practice of picking hawthorn boughs evolved to include dancing with them around a May Pole.

In Arthurian tradition, Wearyall Hill is associated with the castle of the ‘King Fisherman’ whom the select Grail knights meet. To reach the castle, those on the quest were said to have to cross the ‘perilous bridge’ over the river of Death. To pass through the castle was to go from this world to the next.

Interesting the think that the gates to the otherworld of Annwn were believed to be just on the next hill, Glastonbury Tor.

Whatever legend or myth you believe, or don’t believe, about Wearyall Hill is up to you. The stories are many and convoluted, but such is the fate of great and sacred places of the past.

I always looked forward to my walks up the gentle slope of Wearyall Hill with the Holy Thorn drawing me up like a beacon, a friend even. Locals, Christian and Pagan believers, hold it close to their hearts.

Holy Thorn with wishes tied to it
and Glastonbury Tor in background

Once at the top of the hill, I would circle the Thorn, reach out to touch its limbs, and read some of the wishes or prayers on ribbons tied to it – ‘Don’t let me lose my family,’ or ‘Thank you for making my mummy better.’ The wishes wrenched your heart, and the thanks made you smile.

When I would sit on the nearby bench at the top of the hill, I never felt alone. I would look out at the Tor and the surrounding landscape and feel tremendous gratitude. I would always leave with a sense of hope for the future, and a tie to the past.

I remember the last time I drove away from the Thorn back in 2002, the sigh that heaved out of my chest as I made my way back down the hill to the parking lot across the street. I looked up to see that lovely wind-blown silhouette and was somehow reassured by its presence.

Since my own days In Insula Avalonia, it seems that tragedy has struck Wearyall Hill.

In writing this piece, I thought I would check the internet for any new discoveries or theories about the hill and its archaeology.

After the vandalization of the Thorn

Instead, I found an article relating how in 2010, vandals took a chainsaw to the Holy Thorn in the middle of the night. In the morning, residents found their beloved tree of hope hacked to bits. A sapling was planted again in the Spring of 2013, but again, that was knocked down in the night.

I’m still in shock over this, having just found out. I’d been in ignorant bliss, lost in my remembrances of Glastonbury’s Thorn in full bloom on a sunlit hilltop.

I don’t know what would drive people to such destruction other than pure ignorance or malice. Part of me wants to devise ways in which the perpetrators could be made to pay, but then that would go against everything the Holy Thorn stands for.

Either way, if you mess with god, goddesses, fairies or Gwynn ap Nudd himself, you’re likely to get your comeuppance no matter what your beliefs.

But the Thorn has survived the centuries and there has been talk that new shoots have been coming up. The Royal Botanical Gardens is on the case, and so are the citizens of Glastonbury.

The Thorn and Wearyall Hill itself are not purely Christian or Pagan. They are symbols of unity, and of a common past. We should indeed cherish sites that are so revered, whether we believe in them or not.

In a way, the Thorn’s sacrifice is bringing people together. Glastonbury is still a town where Pagan and Christian live side by side.

I have every hope that the Thorn will blossom once again on the crest of Wearyall Hill, and that one day I’ll make the climb to say hello to a very old friend.

Thank you for reading.

In Insula Avalonia - Glastonbury Tor

It’s the end of October, and as it is the Celtic festival of Samhain I thought it would be a good idea to begin exploring a place that is near and dear to my heart: Glastonbury.

To most, the mere mention of this town’s name will likely conjure images of wild, scantily clad or naked youths and aged hippies. You’ll think of thousands of people covered in mud as they wend their way, higher than the Hindu Kush, among the tent rows to see their favourite artists rock the Pyramid Stage.

It’s a great party, but that’s not the real Glastonbury.

Removed from the fantastic orgy that is the music festival, this small town in southwest Britain is a very ancient place. The real Glastonbury is a place of mystery, lore and legend. It is a place that was sacred to the Celts, pagan and Christian alike, Saxons, and Normans. For many it is the heart of Arthurian tradition, and for some it is the resting place of the Holy Grail.

Today, Glastonbury is a place where those seeking spiritual enlightenment are drawn. The New Age movement is going strong here, yet another layer of belief to cloak the place.

I lived in the countryside outside of the town for about 3 years and I never tired of walking around Glastonbury and exploring the many sites that make it truly unique. I’d like to share some of those sites with you.

In Insula Avalonia is going to be a series of short posts exploring the historic and legendary treasures that make up this wondrous place known as the Isle of Avalon.

Morning view of the Tor

From where I lived on the other side of the peat moors, I awoke every morning to see Glastonbury’s most prominent feature shrouded in mist – the Tor.

Tor is a word of Celtic origin referring to ‘belly’ in Welsh or an ‘imposing hill’ in Gaelic. Glastonbury Tor thrusts up from the Somerset levels like a beacon for miles around. Every angle is interesting. On the top is the tower of what was the church of St. Michael, a remnant of the 14^th century. Before that, there was a monastery that dated to about the 9^th century A.D.

However, habitation of this place goes much farther back in time with some evidence for people in the area around 3000 B.C. It was not always a religious centre. In the Dark Ages, the Tor served a more militaristic purpose and there are remains from this period.

Flooding around Glastonbury

In Arthurian lore, the Isle of Avalon is a sort of mist-shrouded world that is surrounded by water and can only be reached by boat or secret path. In fact, during the Dark Ages and into later centuries, until the drainage dykes were built, the Somerset levels were prone to flooding. This flooding made Glastonbury Tor and the smaller hills around it true islands. With the early morning mist that covers the levels, this watery land would have been a relatively safe refuge for the Druids, and early Christians, Dark Age warlords and late medieval monks.

In Celtic myth, Glastonbury Tor is said to be the home of Gwynn ap Nudd, the Faery King and Lord of Annwn, the Celtic otherworld.

Gwynn ap Nudd is the Guardian of the Gates of Annwn, an underworld god. It is at Samhain that the gates of Annwn open. This was also the place where the soul of a Celt awaited rebirth. 

'The Wild Hunt' (1872) by Peter Nicolai Arbo

If you are on the Tor at Samhain, you may hear the sound of hounds and hunting horns as the lord of Annwn emerges for the Wild Hunt of legend.

In Arthurian romance, there is a tradition of the wicked Melwas imprisoning Guinevere on the Tor. Arthur rides to the rescue, attacks Melwas and saves Guinevere. This particular story mirrors an episode in Culhwch ac Olwen, one part of the Welsh Mabinogion, in which Gwythyr ap Greidawl attempts to save Creiddylad, daughter of Lludd, whom he is supposed to marry, from Gwyn ap Nudd himself.

Another even more fascinating Arthurian connection can be found in a pre-Christian version of the ‘Quest of the Holy Grail’, called the ‘Spoils of Annwn’ which was found in the ‘Book of Taliesin’. In this tale, Arthur and his companions enter Annwn to bring back a magical cauldron of plenty. In this, some say that ‘Corbenic Castle’ (the ‘Grail Castle’) is actually Glastonbury Tor. It isn’t just Herakles and Odysseus who journeyed to the Underworld!

Glastonbury Tor is not only associated with Celtic religion, myth and legend. It is also said by some to be a place of power sitting on a sort of vortex in the land. It lies along some of the key ley-lines, including what is called the St. Michael ley-line. The majority of sites associated with St. Michael, the slayer of Satan, along this ley-line were indeed places of power and belief of the old religion.

But this is nothing new. Christians built on top of sites sacred to the pagans they were eager to overcome. What better way to symbolize your ‘victory’ than to build right on top of a site and make it yours.

Gwynn ap Nudd on the Hunt

Gates of Annwn and Gwynn ap Nudd? ‘Let’s build a church of St. Michael on top of it! That’ll show ‘em!’

But myth and legend persist through story and place, and the Tor is a prime example of how successive traditions do not overcome each other, but rather combine to make up the various aspects of that place.

If you ever get to Glastonbury, the Tor is a definite must. Walk to the top and sit awhile. Look out over the landscape and watch the crows and magpies dive in the wind around the steep slopes. Close your eyes and listen. While you’re there, you can decide whether you are sitting on a natural formation, a ceremonial labyrinth, a hill fort, a sleeping dragon, the Gates of Annwn, or the mound where Arthur sleeps until he is needed once more. The Tor is all of these things and more.

However, no matter what you believe, one thing is certain: Glastonbury Tor remains a site of extreme beauty and mystery that is well worth a visit, even if it is just to watch the sun sink in the west.

Have a safe and happy Samhain.

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.